Arwith
by Loet Kyra Wonde
Summary: COMPLETE A year after the Fellowship's journey has ended, they reunite at Aragorn's request. While they're there, they meet someone that threatens their peace to destroy. No romance. Rating for violence. All reviews, good and bad, are welcome.
1. Pip's Pap prob

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

A faint knocking could be heard at the door of Samwise Gamgee's home. "Sam," his wife Rosie called from somewhere inside, "Sam, would you answer the door please? Thank you."

Sam hurried from one of the back rooms. He hollered at the door as though he thought it would answer back. "Coming, coming!" He opened the door to find a pair of large blue eyes and large grin underneath them. They just happened to be attached to his best friends face. "Mister Frodo, sir! Come in, come in!" Frodo Baggins and Sam hugged excitedly in the doorway before hurrying inside. They sat at the table in the kitchen. They talked while Sam bustled about the kitchen, bringing food and tea.

"How are you these days, Sam? I don't see as much as I used to." Sam set down the food. "I know, sir. And you know, I rather miss that. But since Rosie had Elanor, I haven't had much time for social calls." Frodo didn't miss the way Sam swelled with pride at the sound of his own daughter's name. "How are Rosie and Elanor anyway?" "They're fine. Elanor has my eyes and Rosie's nose. And just last week, Rosie said that Elanor had my old gaffer's feet!"

The last comment was absolutely tickling. Frodo stifled a chuckle and was about to respond when they both heard Elanor's screams and crying from somewhere in the house. Rosie's footsteps were heard and the cries quickly subsided.

There was silence in the kitchen while the experience sank in. Frodo was the first to speak. "Is it always like that?" He nodded towards the door, indicating the baby and her mother. Sam sighed as though the thought was exasperating. "Just about. It's actually a lot quieter now. You should have been here when she was born, if you think that's bad. The noise was terrible. And the commotion that came with it was down right murder!" "You were in a panic then, eh?"

"He was running around everywhere like a nervous hen!" Rosie's voice could be heard from the other end of the house. Frodo laughed harder than he'd laughed in weeks. Sam's face indicated that he was trying to look aggravated but was unable to resist his own snort of amusement.

When the guffaws finally subsided, Frodo sat staring into his own half- empty cup of tea for a while. He was beginning to become lost in his own thoughts when Sam's voice pulled him back into reality. "So Mister Frodo, how have you been of late?" Frodo was silent for a moment. When he looked up, his eyes had the excited twinkle of someone with a secret and the corners of his mouth were curling. He looked delightfully excited.

"Sam," he began slowly, "I received a very interesting letter today. Perhaps you would care to read it?" Frodo produced a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and handed it to his friend, who was looking somewhat confused. Sam unfolded the parchment and his eyes began to skim the page.

Frodo sat watching, growing ever more amused as Sam's eyebrows began to rise higher and higher on his forehead. Sam finally reached the end of the letter and looked up, obviously pleased but not saying anything. The two friends sat in silence for a long time. From an outside view, they would both have seemed to be delighting in a shared secret.

"So," Frodo started, "what thinks you of it, then? Shall we accept the invitation?" Sam and Frodo shared the same look of glee and there was mirth in their voices. "Well," Sam grinned wryly, "we'll not be going anywhere without the other two."

"Yah yellah-bellied scoundrels, I'll boil yah up and feed ye to me swine!" Meriadoc Brandybuck peered anxiously behind him as he ran, dragging behind him Peregrin Took, who was not at all anxious to be running anywhere. On the contrary, he was waving and calling back to very pretty young hobbit girl behind him. "Ta then, Diamond!" When a clay urn came flying and exploded against a tree branch near his head, he quickly turned and reluctantly followed his best friend. They were running around another tree and had just ducked behind a stonewall when they saw two pairs of very familiar feet. They looked up to discover Frodo and Sam staring down at them and grinning like they had just witnessed something that they found to be highly entertaining. "Well well," Sam said, "The gruesome twosome."

"Get down, you _fools_!" Merry hissed urgently. Merry and Pippin each grabbed Frodo's and Sam's ankles and yanked so the two that were standing immeadiately fell and landed on their backs. Both grunted and crawled over to where Merry and Pippin were sitting. Sam winced and rubbed a particularly bruised spot on his back while Frodo spoke. "What in the Samuel hill are you two doing?" Merry glanced rather irritantly at Pippin, who was peering cautiously over the wall. "Pip's been at it again with courting Diamond of Long Cleeve." Frodo chuckled while Sam asked, "How's it going?"

Pippin ducked as the shards of another broken urn scattered as it came flying at the wall and was smashed. "It's not going that well," Merry stated matter-of-factly. "When I catch ye, Peregrin Took, I'll string yah up by yer toes and skin yah alive!" "At least not with her old pap," said Pippin, looking perhaps a little too pleased with himself.

When they could no longer hear the shouts, screams, and threats of Diamond's father, they each stood cautiously up and ran for the nearest pub, lest the furious father figure return with more urns, or a pitchfork. They had each downed half a pint of ale when the inevitable was asked.

"What's new with you?" Merry asked. Once again, Frodo and Sam grinned gleefully. Frodo took a letter from his pocket and calmly handed it to Merry and Pippin. The two clunked their heads together in an effort to see it at the same time and read carefully. "Dear Mister Frodo Baggins, (mumble, mumble, mumble) Aragorn (mumble) secret (mumble) important (mumble, mumble) please come immediately (mumble) urgent (mumble) looking forward to seeing you once more. Sincerely, King Aragorn and Queen Arwen."

Merry and Pippin glanced over the parchment at Frodo and Sam. The four of them grinned wildly. "Well?" Frodo asked, barely able to contain himself. "'Well?'" Merry continued excitedly. "What do you mean, 'well?' What are we waiting for?"


	2. Why they were late

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

Also, I'd like to say thank you to iccle fairy, the first person to review my fic. Iccle Fairy, we thank you!

"You know," Merry commented nonchalantly, "it may just be that my imagination is attempting- and succeeding- to fool me. But it occurs to me that the trip back to the Shire from Gondor wasn't nearly this long." Sam turned at face him. "The last time, we'd all been tramping about the whole of Middle Earth. After that, I can only imagine how short the ride home must have seemed.

"Of course," he continued, now sounding just a smidge irate, "it probably would have helped if we hadn't gotten ourselves lost." "Don't get started on that again!" Pippin called from further down the line, sounding offended. "I've told you twelve different times, that was not my fault! I can't help it if a falling tree branch spooks my pony. I certainly can't help it if the pony then decides to gallop off with me still on it, not listening when I tell it to stop or to follow the rest of you."

"In Pippin's defense," said Frodo from the other side of the line, "we probably shouldn't have stopped by that apple tree." "Or by all those berry patches," added Merry. "Alright, fine," sighed a frustrated Sam. "But," he added somewhat challengingly, "what about that mushroom patch?" The three other hobbits looked at each other, their mouths opening and closing with nothing sensible coming out. In a desperate attempt to draw the attention elsewhere, Frodo quickly looked ahead. "Look, I think we're almost there."

The trip thus far had gone accordingly: The sun overhead was refulgent, yet it lacked the necessary heat to cause any discomfort. There was a cool breeze, but it wouldn't bite. The surroundings were placid. Thankfully, it wasn't blasé. All in all, it made the trip calm and peaceful without causing any distressing amount of boredom.

The troop urged their ponies forward at an increased pace. They were traveling up a hill and had just reached the apex. They quickly stopped and stared at the panoramic view. The hill took a steep drop down. The canyon quickly faded from growth and vegetation to boulders and gravel, and then from the hard, cold gray back to its original soft, warm green. The valley was bare, all but for a river with a town on it.

That, and a magnificent city that thrived on a hill in the center. The city was a most impressive sight, gargantuan in size and beautiful to behold. Towers, buildings, and all manner of architecture existed there. At its apex, there was an extraordinary castle, decked with steeples, banners, and flags depicting a silver tree.

The four hobbits stared at the majestic vision for what seemed like an eternity. Slowly, they each turned to face each other. The similar beam on every face expressed a parallel appreciation for what they each saw and remembered. "Gents," Pippin said, a hint of loyalty in his voice, "welcome back to the White City."


	3. Aragorn's big suprise

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

And a second thank you, this time to CaryElwesisHOT for reviewing my new fic. CEiH, I love the support. I will most definitely keep it up. I'd like to thank Eccentric Banshee for not only reviewing, but for helping me get started with my writing. I should have posted that earlier and I didn't! Fiddlesticks! (That was for you, Cally.) _smacks one's self around for a bit before continuing_ Anyway, thank you again to everyone for reviewing. I love you so much! _sobs of uncontrollable joy and delight_

The hobbit quartet wandered somewhat nervously into the courtyard of Minas Tirith. Each dismounted and looked around, reminiscing. An almost sorrowful smile played everyone's lips. The memories that surrounded them were bittersweet. The bitterness was for every hardship that had been endured. For every bloodless corpse they had seen. For every blank, lifeless stare. For every drop of precious, life-giving blood that had been spilt, drained from every wound that had been afflicted on every unwilling victim. The sweetness was for every friend and ally gained. For every victory gained on their side. For every wound that had been healed. For the peace that they now had to enjoy.

They would most certainly have remained and stewed in their own thoughts for a longer period of time had they not been interrupted by what they supposed was a very tense young, new valet. At least, he was tense and he was young. Whether he was new or not was up to one's own interpretation. As for his being a valet, there was little to provide evidence against it. He had come running down the steps in a flurry. He might have seemed slightly more professional had he not tripped on the bottom step. He came up huffing and sputtering.

He became even more flustered when he saw their tight, pursed lips that were fighting desperately to hold back their snickers. "I _say_, sirs! Just who might you be?" He was becoming steadily more riled as the chuckles began fighting their way past the hobbits' lips. "Well, really! Stop that at once!"

The sound of someone clearing his throat rather loudly had quickly captured everyone's attention. They all turned to see a tall man with auburn hair and a gentle smile. He seemed to radiate a kindness that surpassed all enmity, despite the sword that rested in a hilt at his side. "Thank you, Alec," he said calmly. "I think I can handle these four."

Alec gave a quick bow and hurried away. The hobbits and man watched him leave and had to stifle their chortles when he toppled over the steps again. The man's smile had widened when he turned to face the four halflings. "Welcome, my friends. It appears that you've accepted Lord Aragorn's invitation. I'm pleased to see you all again.

"Now... I remember your faces well enough. I can properly remember your names. Let me see if I can remember which name goes with which face. First, we have..." he faced Sam. "Samwise Gamgee." Sam nodded. "Good to see you." "Next is Frodo Baggins." He seemed pleased to receive a second nod. "Then there's Meriadoc Brandybuck." Merry gave a simple wave of acknowledgement. "And finally there's... Peregrin Took. Am I right?" Pippin snapped to attention and gave a comical salute. "Pippin. Or Pip, if you don't mind, sah!"

"So... Sam, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin. It's good to see you all again." "Good to see you too, Faramir," Pippin put in. They stood beaming at one another before running into an immense embrace.

They had just released each other when a woman with long blonde hair came running down the stairs. "Faramir! Are they here?" Faramir had little or no time to respond. She promptly gathered everyone into another group hug, one that was probably tighter than the first. "Hello Eowyn," Faramir wheezed. Only Merry and Sam could muffle on response. Pippin emitted a noise that couldn't be deciphered. Frodo, being in the middle, couldn't muffle anything at all.

The six of them walked through the doors to one of the larger courtyards. There were already several people there, some of whom were not strangers. There were several soldiers from Gondor's and Rohan's armies that anyone of the hobbits could remember. Oddly enough, there were also a few elfin soldiers that were present when Aragorn was crowned.

Of everyone they recognized, the four hobbits were happiest to see two of the more familiar faces. "Well, it's about time, lads! We were beginning to think you'd gone and changed your addresses so we couldn't find you." A short, stout dwarf with curly, red hair ran forward with a tall, blonde elf following close behind. "Legolas! Gimli!"

The six of them greeted each other with a mutual enthusiasm. They each chattered about everything that had happened in the year since they had parted ways. They were interrupted by a stern voice. "You're late." They turned to see Gandalf the White facing them, looking most austere indeed. Frodo crossed his arms and became very serious and used a very deep voice. "A hobbit is never late. Nor is he ever early. He arrives precisely when he means to." Laughter erupted amongst everyone in the group when they heard the resemblance.

"Say!" Sam piped up. "Where's Aragorn? We've been here nearly twenty minutes and I just realized we haven't seen him yet." Gimli turned to face him. "He's right! He asked us all here. He should be here. And what's this big secret he was going on about?" "I guess we'll know soon." Everyone looked Merry strangely. "And why would you say that?" Frodo asked. Merry pointed to the stairs. "Because there he is."

Sure enough, there was Aragorn walking carefully down the steps with Arwen. Everyone noticed she seemed to fall behind a little but no one thought much of it. They all rushed forward and greeted Aragorn with embraces and shouts of welcoming.

Gimli pushed his way through everyone and stood in front of Aragorn with his arms crossed. "Well, lad, what is it? What's this big secret you couldn't tell us about until now?" Legolas stared down at his friend. He rolled his eyes and could be heard muttering under his breath. "How succinct."

Egged on by Gimli, the others promptly followed suit in trying to unearth Aragorn's big surprise. He smiled almost sheepishly. "Well... "He began to explain, but he couldn't finish. Instead, he stepped aside, revealing Arwen.

She looked as radiant as ever and was looking very pleased indeed. Everyone was surprised to find that they had completely forgotten she was even there. But there was something different about her that everyone failed to realize at once. This was not the same Arwen they had seen a year ago. This was a very different Arwen. This Arwen was very, _very_, _very_ pregnant.

Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin could no longer stand next to her and see her face. Instead they just stared in an almost utter disbelief at her round stomach. Gimli did not let it bother him that he couldn't see much further than the hobbits and slapped proudly Aragorn on the back. "Well, I'll be! When did this happen?" (A/N: Like they're going to tell him.) Gandalf beamed at him. "Congratulations, Aragorn." Legolas just stood there, grinning at Aragorn and Arwen. His smile was so wide it looked painful. Aragorn and Arwen didn't say much, but no one had ever seen them look so proud.


	4. Why now? Why at all?

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

"This is not at all comforting. Not in the least." Aragorn stared almost fiercely at the orc sword and shield in front of him. They were stained with the crimson hue of human blood. The officer next to him spoke. "The ambush happened at the edge of one the local villages sometime around midnight, Sire. Had it not been for the soldiers that were on patrol, the rabble would surely have massacred the whole lot of them."

"Were there any casualties?" "Just one, Sire. An old man." "And what of his family?" "No family, sir."

"And the wounded?" "Two lieutenants and a captain, sir." Aragorn remained staring at the weapons in front of him. He sighed exhaustedly. "Thank you, major."

The officer bowed and turned to exit, but heard himself being summoned back.

"And major," Aragorn called after him. "Sire?" Aragorn turned his head to face him. "Do not make a point of delivering this news to the Queen." "Yes sir.

"...I realize that's none of my concern, Sire, but... Why?" Aragorn smiled. "Have you a wife by any chance?" The major beamed. "Aye, sir. Name's Eliza." Aragorn nodded understandingly. "And children, perhaps?" The major's grin grew. "Two sons and a girl. Hammon's nearly eight. Garon's three. Aroania's just two months old." Aragorn walked over, smiling at his proud informant. "When your Eliza was with child, did you never make certain that she stayed as content as possible?" The major's eyes widened. "Ah," the major answered. He nodded. "I understand you there, sir. No doubt about that."  
  
"So what does it all mean?" Pippin asked, resting his chin on his hands and leaning on the balcony. "Is there going to be another war?" Gandalf sat observing the landscape, placidly drinking his tea with Faramir and the other three hobbits. "Sauron's orcs and Saruman's Uruk-Hai did not die merely because they're masters fell from power. They will go on living and perhaps even make more for as long as they possibly can." "Which is the exact reason why we're hunting them down," Faramir interrupted.

"But why have they started attacking again? They've been in hiding for almost a year. Why would they choose now of all times to rise up?" Merry leaned back in his chair and allowed his question to hang uncomfortably in the air for several minutes before Gandalf spoke. "Because they sense that something nearing. Something that is not unlike Sauron himself. Possibly something that would lead to yet another bloody war."

Frodo stared at him questioningly. "What gives you that impression?" Gandalf glanced wearily at him. "Because I sense it as well. The feeling was faint in the beginning, but for two weeks it's been steadily. It can no longer be denied." Noting the worried and uncertain faces of his colleagues, Gandalf continued. "If you doubt my words, then by all means, ask Legolas. He informed three mornings ago that he was feeling an approaching entity of some sort as well."

Sam appeared as though he had just remembered something. "Say," he started, "where is Legolas? I haven't seen hide nor hair of either him or Gimli since just after last night's dinner."

Gandalf pursed his lips through his long white beard and began to grin dryly. "I'm sure that you're aware by now of Legolas's and Gimli's somewhat competitive nature towards one another? Well, as it turns out, last night they decided to take their friendly animosity a step further. They challenged each other to discover which of the two could stand the most wine. They opened and emptied an entire keg of the strongest brew that they were able to find." Gandalf's leer reached its breaking point as he continued. "While the identity of the victor has yet to be known, we can be certain of one thing. They both are reportedly out cold and shall most likely and almost undoubtedly remain so for several hours, when they shall awake to find themselves suffering from the both nauseous and painful aftereffects of their actions, resulting in what I'm certain will be a hangover that would send even Sauron himself reeling."

Judging from the snickers and snorts that followed, it could be quite honestly said that the entire group had been momentarily distracted by what was certainly an entertaining visual from their current dilemma.


	5. The hunt is on and over

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

Also, a second special thanks to Eccentric Banshee for her second review. Don't feel bad about not reviewing sooner, EB. I was away for a week and couldn't write. I'd also like to thank teinesamoa- who just happens to be my fabulous older sister- for her review. Here's the "more, more, more" that you needed to have.

"So what is it that we're looking for exactly?" Gimli sounded almost bored. "Anything that may tell us what is driving the orcs from their hiding places and into the light of day. If you find such activities to be beyond your capabilities, then you may very well return to Minas Tirith, young Master Dwarf." Gandalf was sure to put emphasis on the latter three words. Gimli snorted disapprovingly, but didn't say anything. He certainly didn't turn and make the three hours' journey back to Minas Tirith.

These two were not alone of course. Legolas, Faramir, and Aragorn were amongst them. They were accompanied by a small band of volunteer soldiers. The entire group was scouting one of the more wooded areas of Gondor. In light of the recent orc attacks that had occurred, it seemed only sensible to find either where they were all coming from or, more importantly, what had roused them from their cover.  
  
Twigs snapped underfoot, breaths were taken, and leaves crunched. Somewhere an ear heard it and twitched. Its owner was tense and alert while somehow managing to stay almost entirely dormant. It had been vagabonding in the vicinity for some time. It had watched events unfold before its eyes while the participators remained unaware of its presence. It had listened to conversers and remained unheard. It knew about the search party that scouted the area and what they were searching for. It could feel their quarry being drawn in by some unknown force.

It moved from its spot, a silent, shapeless shadow. It edged its way to where it was able to see even a glimpse of the search team.  
  
Legolas remained unusually uptight and uneasy. His azure orbs scanned the surroundings and he wasn't paying attention to what Aragorn was saying to Faramir or what Gimli was grumbling about. He noticed the flap of a bird's wings. The twittering, yellow dash of a butterfly's path. And the feeling of unseen eyes.

His own eyes wandered ever so slowly over to his right. He gazed from the forest floor up the tree roots to their trunk, right up into the canopy.

His gaze lingered there in the forest's top where the sun came blindingly through. The suspicious feeling that resided inside of him- the one that told him he was being watched- was stirred and he squirmed. A glance in Gandalf's direction and a look at his face told Legolas that his wizard companion was similarly uncomfortable. A leaf snapped softly and fell from overhead and passed through Gandalf's line of vision. Elvin and wizard eyes watched it fall gently to the earth and then met in a silent gaze. Each turned upward as they began, almost unconsciously, to arm themselves. Legolas pulled an arrow from his quiver as Gandalf held his staff defensively in front of him.

Aragorn had stopped talking and was watching their wordless interaction. He too began to search the treetops and unsheathed his sword. Others in the group noticed also. Faramir had his hand on his blade's hilt when Legolas shot an arrow to their right into the trees.

Something no one had noticed before dodged the arrow's path and began moving in the trees. "Get it down!" Gandalf shouted. Legolas continued firing arrows as several of the volunteer soldiers did the same. Aragorn took a dirk from his belt and threw it when whatever was in the trees faltered in front of it, then lost its balance and had to jump. It leapt to several limbs below and landed behind a shrub.

Everyone charged into the clearing where the thing had landed. It was stumbling away from them and had on several long cloaks that hid it from total view. The hood was up but falling down. Everyone drew whatever weapons they had.

Their prey was standing in a defensive, hunched-over position and turned to face them. Those present would later think of this incident and be reminded of a wild, cornered animal, of a wolf in a cage. It kept its head down so that only it mouth and nose were shown. It curled back its lips and emitted something between a growl and a hiss. The canine teeth in the humanoid face were oddly shaped, oblong and sharp in the way of fangs.

"Show yourself!" one of the soldiers shouted. The feral noise coming from their prey's mouth became lower and its mouth opened wider to bare its teeth. It turned and hissed terribly at the soldier that had yelled. The foot soldiers in front of it took a step back when it jutted its head forward and growled louder. Doing so revealed its eyes and when the thing turned, it saw, for the first time, Gandalf and Aragorn. It became suddenly alarmed and let out a loud warning growl, its teeth more apparent than ever. It froze in place for hardly two seconds when it turned and ran, disappearing into the forest.

"After it!" Aragorn ordered as he, Legolas, Gimli, and Gandalf began to pursue it. Everyone followed the personage, who was running ahead at an alarming rate and was becoming increasingly difficult to see. It seemed that the many cloaks it donned blended in with the surroundings. It ducked and weaved through the trees and rarely remained traveling in the same direction. It didn't seem to care where it was going, be it "left" or "right," so long as the direction was "away." Several times it disappeared entirely and was only spotted when it was almost out everyone's line of vision.

After several minutes of this, the personage darted one direction, behind a wide, tall tree and could not be seen when it was followed. Everyone was around the tree with their weapons drawn, looking in every direction and panting for breath. Gandalf was following suit when he paused and cautiously drew his eyes upward. His face became rigid and he thrust his staff upwards. A violent wind shook the trees while creatures of all sorts fled from his direction and those around him fell to the ground, unable to stand. The shuddering became steadily harder and finally a large branch snapped above them with a loud crack. It fell from the other side of the tree and everyone saw the being fall with it. They dashed to where the branch had fallen and were searching with their eyes for the being when it suddenly rose just enough for it to be seen. Before anyone could act, Gimli sprang from nowhere and covered it with a sack. It squirmed and fought until several of the others helped Gimli subdue it. Then it went strangely limp.

Aragorn approached Gimli and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Well done, sir." He and Gandalf immediately went about giving orders to soldiers. Legolas came behind his friend and looked at him questioningly. "Admirable work. Though I must ask; from where did you produce a large sack?" Gimli chuckled. "You may not know this, lad, but I happen to carry a great deal of useful items such as that in my pack. The trick to fitting them all, however, is to not carry such things as cooking ware- as our own dear Sam does- or great horns- as our departed Boromir did," Gimli lowered his voice, "or even bows and quivers of arrows, like someone else I know." Legolas did not resist the strong urge to give Gimli a friendly punch in the arm. Nor, for that matter, did he resist the even stronger urge to make said punch just a little too hard.


	6. An important gathering

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

A second thank you to teinesamoa for her review. Thank you to Calico Cat for her two reviews. CC, I'm sure Cally Christine knows who she is too. And thank you to lindahoyland for her short-and-sweet review. (I loved writing Chapter 5!)

Also- a little something for myself- I would like to make a late announcement about my second fic. It's new, it's finished, and according to everyone that's read it, it's funny too.

"My, this is a change." Sam sat in his chair, surrounded by the other hobbits. "The last time there was a secret council of some sort, we weren't invited." They sat on the large, rounded balcony waiting anxiously for Gandalf. Legolas sat calmly watching Gimli pace back and forth. Aragorn, who had not said much since the search party's return four hours previously, stood waiting patiently by the entrance with Faramir.

"Aragorn," Pippin began slowly, "why were we asked to come to this meeting?" Aragorn turned to look at him, aware that the others were listening for what he would say. "Gandalf thought that, this time, the matter would concern you."

"It's just as well, really." Everyone turned to stare curiously at Gimli. "Well, it's true," the dwarf lord continued, aware that he had the stage. "They could either be here in person and get the facts straight, or they'll listen in, uninvited, and surprise us by popping out of the woodwork when we're finished." Frodo shook his head and snickered while the three remaining hobbits sat grinning. Sam looked slightly abashed. Pippin looked pleased. Merry was struggling between looking embarrassed and looking proud at the same time, resulting in a rather comical expression that somehow still managed to get the point across.

Gandalf walked in several minutes later followed by three guards, one of whom held a large, heavy bag. Aragorn took the sack from him and the three guards left after announcing that they would be standing outside the door if they were needed.

Everyone but Aragorn and Faramir sat as he walked to the middle of the ring holding the sack with both hands. "Well?" Gimli asked. "Where is he?" Gandalf motioned to the bag.

"In there?" Pippin asked as his brows merged with his bangs. "You carried them here in a sack?" Gandalf sighed and looked as though he would rather not think about it. "We've tried already to extricate him, but it resulted only in chaos. Three of the volunteers are in the infirmary with minor cuts and scrapes, another two have rather vicious bite marks on their arms, and at least one other is complaining of a headache and is having difficulty seeing through his right eye." Pippin stared at Gandalf. "... In a sack?!" Gimli chuckled as Gandalf grumbled something dealing with hobbits, fools, and rocks.

The atmosphere grew quickly grave as Aragorn began to untie the knot in the bag. As the bag opened at the top, Faramir stood with his sword at the ready. Everyone tensed as Aragorn actually began to pick the bag up and turn it upside down. What at first resembled a pile of cloaks slid smoothly onto the floor. The large heap however began to slowly rise. It was like watching a child play with clothes that were too big for him. The growing stopped with the thing itself only about three feet high and the multitude of clothing puddling around its base. Its head was bent down and the hood was up, hiding its face. Aragorn and Faramir edged slowly in front of it. Using the flat of his blade, Aragorn tipped the person's head up so that it faced forward and the hood fell.

No one knew what to do, say, or think. No one even moved. All they could do was stare.

The person sitting in front of them was not a man, as they had thought. It was a young woman. Her face was as white as snow, with a delicate nose and mouth set in place. Her eyes almost seemed too large for her face. They were gray, but so pale that they resembled a full moon. Her brows and lashes were thick and black, but they were delicate enough that they didn't overwhelm her face. It would have been an attractive face had the expression upon it not been so utterly emotionless.

Stranger still than her face was her hair. It was straight and came just past her shoulders. It was a dark brown, almost black, and closely resembled the bark of a black cherry tree. There were many patches in it that were red, orange, and yellow, giving it a unique fire affect.

The strangest thing, however, were her ears. They stuck out through her hair. They pointed, yet not in the way of the elves. They looked as though they were those of an animal, perhaps of a fox or of a cat.

Everyone was silent as they took in the strange sight before them. There was nothing to be said. Frodo and Sam shuddered slightly in horror and disgust at the sight of her eyes; they were so like Gollum's. She never moved, or changed her expression, or even blinked. She merely sat, staring eerily ahead. It was as if she were a porcelain doll and not a living, breathing being.

Gandalf was the first to move. He strode over to face her. He stood in front this strange girl. "You are in the realm of Gondor, in the city of Minas Tirith. I am Gandalf the White, and this," Gandalf gestured to Aragorn, "is Aragorn, King of Men. Who are you, and from where do you come? What is your purpose in Gondor?"

The spectral-like woman before him turned her eyes slowly to stare creepily at him. She did not change her expression and she did not speak. Gandalf continued, this time more forcibly. "Who are you? From where did you come? What is your purpose here?" His voice lowered. "Are you what's causing the orcs' uprising?"

The odd creature turned her head slowly, her eyes ever fixed on Gandalf. And still, the wizard's inquiries were met with silence. Gandalf was obviously growing weary of asking without someone answering. He raised his voice, sounding terrible and formidable. "WHO ARE YOU? DO YOU MAKE YOUR ALLIANCE WITH SAURON?"

Whatever reaction Gandalf was expecting, it was certainly not the one he received. The girl's head lowered, her brows furrowed, and her eyes narrowed, giving them a slit, feline appearance. The combination made obvious her acrimonious view of the current situation. She tucked her chin into her neck, closed her eyes, and took a deep, heavy breath. She breathing became strong and focused as though she was concentrating intensively on something. Gandalf was not the alone in leaning forward, interested in what was happening. The girl took a deeper breath than before and held, lifting her head so that it faced ahead. Her eyes were still closed. Everyone leaned in closer.

The young woman's eyes snapped opened suddenly, but were not the same. They no longer had their original lunar quality. They were something entirely different. They were now reminiscent of Sauron's lidless eye. Large eyes, glazed yellow like a cat's, engulfed in fire; the slits were windows into nothingness. The assembly all jerked back in surprise and horror. The woman had curled back her lips, honed fangs once again exposed in aggression. She growled loudly and swerved her head in all directions, looking deeply into every pair of frightened and startled eyes. All who met her gaze turned away, unable to hold her stare for any extended period of time. She hesitated and stared more intensely when she reached Gandalf and Aragorn, in whom she seemed to take particular interest. She lastly held her stare with Frodo and Pippin. Either one of them held her gaze longer than the others, but looked as though they were in excruciating pain.

When Pippin, then Frodo finally wrenched their eyes shut, the girl ceased her horrid growl and put her white lips together. Her wrathful expression eased to one of apathetic disdain, Sauron's eyes still masking her own. She closed her eyes and let her head hang.

When she lifted it once more, her orbs had their previous silver glow and her face was again unagitated and statue-like. All were silent while they stared incredibly at the seemingly unelaborated individual that stood in their midst.

Faramir was the first to recover his senses and banged once on the door with his fist, his eyes still fixed on the girl while the sentries ran onto the balcony. At a wave of their king's hand, they took the young woman and dragged her away. She never resisted, spoke, or even moved during the entire, seventeen-second process. Nor did any one else.

"What was that?" Faramir asked. "What just happened?" Sam and Merry were speaking quietly to Frodo and Pippin, who looked thoroughly shaken. Legolas had paled. Aragorn sat in unearthly silence. Gandalf had returned to his seat and looked as tired as anyone his age should be. Gimli was silent for a moment when he suddenly exclaimed, "I think it can safely be said that that woman is in league with Sauron." Gandalf sighed heavily. "Yes, master dwarf. I think we can be certain of that."


	7. She knows

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

More thanks to lindahoyland for the review. I was working so hard on all those descriptions in Chapter 6! It was great fun! Spectacular! I'd also like to thank teinesamoa for her third review. I'm liking the way I portray Gimli. He's my favorite character. And of course, my third thank you goes to Calico Cat. I'm not sure it's all perfection, but I love it anyway!

A very special thanks to the official LOTR website for their description of Sauron's lidless eye, which I admit to having borrowed without permission.

"Sam, Merry," Eowyn asked, "How are Frodo and Pippin?" The congeries had retired to a lounge and were now contemplating the past six hours' events. Gandalf and Aragorn had vanished into the castle's archives some hours beforehand while the hobbits had left the assembly for their suite.

Merry sighed heavily. "They're asleep. They were exhausted and pretty shaken up." "They both had migraines," Sam added. "Pippin said he could feel his heartbeat in his temples and up through the base of his skull. Mister Frodo said his shoulder ached like it had when we were at Weathertop."

Eowyn laid her head on Faramir's shoulder and squeezed his hand. Gimli puffed hard on his pipe and blew smoke circles into the air. Sam and Merry had confiscated a fruit basket and were slowly working on emptying it of its contents. Legolas and Arwen sat in the far corner of the room, conversing with hushed tones in elvish. One received the impression that she was describing something highly amusing, judging from the grand gesture Arwen made with her hands and the interested grin on Legolas's face.

A guard came walking up the corridor and stood beside the elf prince and queen, who both stood. The young man spoke rather nervously. "Sir, Majesty. I have news about..." He glanced awkwardly at Arwen, then at Legolas. Legolas nodded understandably and began to walk away, escorted by the guard while Arwen sat and tucked her hair behind her ear. When they were further away, the sentinel spoke. "I have news about the young... prisoner. We were told to inform you every hour on any of her activities.

"There has been no activities thus far; she has moved little since she was placed in her cell. She has merely investigated her cell. Her rations have been offered, but she has made no moves to accept them." "Has she said anything, or done anything that should be brought to our attention?" "No. She hasn't said a word, nor has she made any actions to be noted.

"I must return to my post. But you shall be updated on the hour, sooner if necessary." The juvenile picket marched smartly away as a woman came to escort Arwen up to her room. Arwen put down her book, rose to her feet, and took the arm of her aide. Legolas gave a short bow and a smile. "Good night." Arwen nodded her head and smiled in acknowledgment. "Good night."

Legolas turned and paced back to where the remaining members of the party were brooding. He paused and turned his head ever so slightly as though straining to hear a sound that evaded him. His expression turned to one of uneasiness, but he swept his hidden discomfort aside and continued on his way towards the company.

Everyone had been lounging for scarcely a moment when Gimli spoke to Legolas. "Well, lad, what's wrong?" Everyone glanced curiously at their dwarf companion. "I beg your pardon?" Gimli sat more upright and spoke unnecessarily clearly. "What. Is. The. Matter. What ails you? Why did you just look like you shot yourself in the foot with your own arrow?"

The elf's lips thinned. He appeared to be carefully debating his next move. "... She knows," he answered simply. Merry's brows furrowed. "What do you mean, 'She knows'? What does who know now that she didn't know before?"

Legolas began to massage his head with one hand, ignoring the fact that Sam was choking on a bite of apple, and continued. "Aragorn wanted to make sure Arwen didn't know about any of the less pleasant events that have occurred lately, such as the orc uprisings or our new captive. He didn't want to put her, or their child, under any strain. However, she just informed me that she already knew about it all. She said she was going to tell Aragorn when she has the opportunity."

"Hmmm..." Eowyn smiled ever so slightly. "Clever woman." Sam swallowed his bite of apple and sat up straighter. "When did she say all that?" Legolas gestured behind himself. "Just now, as she left. She whispered it under her breath, just audible enough to hear."

Everyone lingered in the lounge for a while longer before parting ways. The night was long and quiet, the kind of night when one awakes in the middle of the night and finds it difficult to return to sleep, their fears more easily recognizable in the choking darkness. There was an underlying agitation that was shielded by an almost realistic peace. Anyone that had returned to the castle after even a brief intermission would have felt that the castle's every angle were slightly off, as though the mere act of standing upright was a dizzying experience and could send one reeling. The creatures that had intruded the walls and would usually be preparing to set out for the night were uneasy and antsy in their nocturnal pursuits; those that normally settled themselves down to sleep were on edge.

Clouds hid the stars and the moon from sight. Wind swept through the valley, stirring the long grasses and startling midnight's residents. Frogs' and crickets' chirps could be heard, faster and louder than ever before, as though they were trying to drown out the night. An owl hooted, its eerie sound resonating throughout the hidden grooves in the land. The wind slowly blew harder. The clouds churned. The singers of midnight's song screamed their tunes as never before. _Faster_. _**Louder**_. Nothing could be seen and the world was spinning. And then it all stopped, as though manually switched off.

A familiar cloaked figure crept silently across the lea floor, swaying perfectly with the smattering breeze. The moon was exposed and its light reflected eerily off this person's eyes, not unlike a pair of miniature moons in their own respect. The skulking figure stopped not once in its evident pursuit to reach its destination: the woods. They moved like a shadow into the stillness of the lightly wooded groves, so rare in a mountainous valley. The night remained deafeningly quiet, with the air so thick it was difficult to breathe. The underlying turmoil that surrounded the area did not abate as they disappeared into the darkness, vanishing from sight.

They would not be missed or noticed until the dawn. The alarm would not be raised until everyone had been awakened. Their method of escape would not be discovered until the King and the White Wizard had inspected their cell. This person knew this all. And they didn't waste their time in lingering where they knew they were wanted for only ill reason.


	8. Gone and back again

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

Thank you to teinesamoa for her extraordinarily complimenting review. I've actually been writing books in my head since I was ten. There's quite a few good ones stored up there in my head. Thanks also to lindahoyland. By the way, "The congeries had retired to a lounge" is a fancy way of saying "Everybody in the group sat around in a room with lots of chairs." My third thanks goes to Calico Cat. I'm glad you like my style of writing. I hope I'm doing well.

This is a rather unnecessary thank you, but I'll post it anyway. The whole "angles-seem-off" and all that stuff were the direct result of reading "The Haunting of Hill House." No, it's not like "House on Haunted Hill." "Haunting" is actually _good_ and it has a plot. But the movie "The Haunting" is loosely based on it. Way to go, Shirley Jackson.

The escapee's cell had been thoroughly inspected, to no avail. The six-by-six-by-ten foot stone room was bare of any hints as to how its previous occupant might have absconded. The one-by-one foot window was eight feet up. Even if the wall had been scaled, the window was fitted with bars, preventing escape. The door appeared to have been unlocked from the inside. None of the sentries had opened the door or lost their keys. There was no sign of forced escape. The door had been abandoned for scarcely a moment. There was little or no way for anyone to escape. One might have assumed that the cell had been bare for quite some time.

So how had it happened? How was possible for her to have fled from their grasp without someone noticing? How was it _possible_?

These thoughts ran through Aragorn's mind as he rode through the woods with his party. They had been hunting their quarry since early that morning. It was now growing on late afternoon and their frantic search had thus far been fruitless. The young captive had disappeared entirely from her cell, with no sign of how she might have escaped or where she might have gone.

Her lack of presence was noticed at dawn, when the guards had brought her rations. Everyone had been searching for her ever since then. It was now the early afternoon.

Once added to the fact that his wife had divulged her well-kept secret- that she knew, and had known, about the orcs and the attacks and the prisoner... It was grating on his nerves and he was developing a migraine.

Aragorn hastened his horse forward when he saw that he was falling behind. He was ready to give up scowering the area and begin searching the mountains, and he could tell his men were too. He was also ready to see if Gandalf had uncovered anything from the mountains of tomes that lay slowly turning to dust in the castle archives.

"Aragorn!" Gimli shouted from his seat behind Legolas. Aragorn turned and rode over to the horse that the two were atop. "Your men are getting restless, and we're getting nowhere. We'll either have to move this search of our's elsewhere or delay it for now." Aragorn massaged his forehead in a vain attempt to rid himself of his headache. "I know. We'll go back to the castle. Perhaps Gandalf will finally have some information for us."

Gimli snorted as he considered the thought to be absurd. "We were fruitless in our attempts to pull him away from those books. He had better have found out something by now."

While they rode back to Minas Tirith, Faramir's group joined them in their short trip. Faramir himself could barely keep himself from noticing Aragorn's abnormally strained manner. The events of the previous night were hardly enough to send him into such a state. "Aragorn, there's obviously something weighing heavily on your mind. What is it?"

The older glanced in the direction of the younger and his biological age seemed truer than before. "...It is Arwen," he answered finally. "She's told me that she knows of everything that I tried to hide from her. She has told me that it is causing her no additional stress, and is not harming our child in any way, but..."

Faramir listened patiently. "Well... It wasn't for nothing that you married her." Aragorn smiled and nodded. "Yes, I suppose you are right."

Two or three hours later, everyone was preparing to depart once more, this time for the more mountainous terrain. Aragorn had spoken with Arwen, and all seemed to be well once more. Gandalf, as it turned out, had _not_ discovered anything of interest. This revelation caused Gimli to go into an inward rage. Upon receiving this unfavorable news, he sputtered angrily, turned, and left with his axe, silently seething. He returned twenty minutes later in a much calmer mood, but saying the blade of his axe would now have to be re-sharpened. The cooks later came to say that the dwarf lord Gimli had passed through to the kitchens and to ask if anyone minded eating a good deal of meat for lunch, dinner, and possibly for breakfast as well. Everyone silently agreed that they had absolutely no desire to know what happened in the kitchens and outwardly agreed that they would not mind eating large quantities of meat. They also suggested that it first be presented to the hobbits, all of whom were doing quite well.

The different teams were ready to leave when they got word of another orc uprising that was occurring as they spoke. The search parties quickly formed into battle squads.

The orcs had attacked a small village an hour before. While many of the people had already fled, a small battalion had fought back. Many, if not all, had been slain on both sides. The orcs were soon ready to claim victory over their enemies when something had happened that caused the vast majority of the group to leave their comrades behind to finish the job.

They had been chasing someone for quite some time. They were tired of trying to catch this person, but they weren't about to give up chase just so they could rest their chops. Besides, the fool had slain one of them when they were attacked. It had taken a dagger from its cloak and brought it through their companion's skull. Orcs had little problem with killing one of their own kind, but there was no mercy to be shown for anyone else.

Their prey, meanwhile, had been running in every direction and simply could not be caught. The chase had become even more difficult when they had entered the woods. The chasers soon learned that they now had to keep their quarry from leaving their eyesight. This person was becoming an irritant that the orcs wanted very much to have out of existence.

The chase took a turn when they neared the edge of the forest. The victim began to climb the tallest tree while orcs could only follow with their eyes. The higher it climbed, the harder it became to see them. The orcs soon had to look away, for their prey had not climbed this tree for no reason. They were between the sun and the orcs' vision. The orcs could not look up and see their prey.

The chase came to an end entirely when arrows shot down several of the orcs. Aragorn's parade had arrived to find their escaped prisoner in a tree and the orcs shielding their eyes. The orcs received their attackers with all the fury and brutality they could muster.

The battle that followed was a short-lived, but destructive gore fest that left the surroundings littered with the bodies of a few men and many orcs. The smell of blood filled the air and the forest had grown silent.

Aragorn was taking a count of the casualties when one of the foot soldiers managed to retrieve the girl from her sanctuary in the tree. Her hands were bound in front of her with a length of rope and her tether was kept by one of the sentinels.

"There are seven men dead, sixteen wounded, Sire." Aragorn nodded approvingly at the good news. "And are any of the orcs still living?"

A howl of pain rang in the air and everyone turned. The guard that held their prisoner had been slashed across his side by an orc with many gashes and only one arm. The orc had his sword raised to finish the guard when he suddenly began to choke and gag. The captive had untied her hands and was using the rope to strangle the one-armed orc. The orc dropped his sword and began to pull at the rope, but the girl had wrapped her hands tightly around the rope and would not give. The orc's grip loosened as he suffocated and he fell to his knees. He grasped desperately behind himself but couldn't reach her. He finally fell onto his chest and passed out of asphyxiation.

The girl removed the rope, then climbed up off the unconscious body and reached for the fallen sword. Taking it in one hand and turning the orc's head with the other, the young woman made a deep cut across the orc's neck, spilling its blood onto the grass.

Of these many unexpected events, the most unexpected was the event that followed. The girl approached the injured soldier, sword still in hand. He shrank back slightly when she stopped in front of him, but looked surprised when she offered him her hand. The young woman pulled the guard up and he leaned on her as she led him across the field of corpses to where a makeshift medic was wrapping wounds.

The soldier who had been speaking with Aragorn turned to face him. His face was pale and his eyes were wide. "There are _seventeen_ men wounded, and no, none of the orcs are still living."

The girl was very much aware that soldiers now surrounded her, but she made no motion to attack. She did not fight back when her hands were once more bound. She made no commotion when she bodily heaved onto someone's horse and a blade placed at her throat should she try to escape. She was calm throughout the entire ordeal. But her face kept its cool, distant look and everyone around her somehow knew to remain on their guard.


	9. How queens walk and men talk

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

It was a tired and disheveled looking lot that returned to Minas Tirith. A few of the footmen were no longer with them and others had left to inform their kin of their loss. The girl who had run away was once more taken down to her cell, even if it was simply because no one was quite certain what else to do with her. Up until now, she had been considered hostile. But her actions from before...

Many of their comrades had been found in one of the many rooms throughout the castle. Arwen was watching Eowyn and a young girl with light orange hair and a face like a pumpkin take care of two youngsters. There was a laughing, pudgy baby boy with ash blonde hair and a cute face and a four-year-old girl with dirty blonde hair and a blanket around her shoulders. Eowyn was following a pattern of bouncing the baby on her knees, first very softly, then harder, and finally sending her knees in two directions at the same time, causing the boy to shriek with laughter. The two girls were strutting about in a circle, all the while talking and curtsying with a feigned, exaggerated regality. Arwen sat back, holding her belly every time she laughed at the children's antics. Merry, Sam, Pippin, and Frodo were on the other side of the room, deeply involved in what appeared to be a game of cards. They glanced up only occasionally to grin at the children playing and to remove another few slices of the many, many meats that were scattered atop the table.

This was how it was when Aragorn and Faramir walked in. Despite the bitterness they had been facing, the sight before them made them smile unconsciously as they made their way over. Legolas and Gimli were standing in the doorway, arguing. Gimli seemed positively indignant. "That last one did _not count_! He was half dead already!" "Not unlike the one you beheaded? You know, the one with six arrows through his chest?"

Every head at the hobbits' table popped up at the sound of the two. "Oy!" Pippin shouted. Elf and dwarf stopped for a moment to look at him. Pippin continued when he had their attention. "Who won?" Legolas looked at Gimli and didn't bother trying not smile. His expression practically screamed "Go on. Say it. I simply must here you say it." Gimli glared at him and grumbled under his breath for a while before muttering in a just barely audible tone, "The pretty, prancing pixie." Legolas grinned smugly while Pippin's and Sam's lips curled. "I believe we won." Merry and Frodo grumbled and each shoved a large ham in the victors' directions.

Legolas and Gimli wandered over and watched as the hobbits continued their game. "Right," Sam said, "Who's turn was it?" Pippin, who sat to his left, glanced to his own left at Merry. "It's supposed to be Merry's but he won't decide on anything." Merry stared at his own cards. "I'm still thinking. We're not going anywhere." Frodo, who sat across from Pippin, swallowed whatever he was eating. "Ante up or fold, Merry. It's all as simple as that." "Wait your turn, Baggins." The two observers watched this with interest and had just noted that the players were using stacks of meat as wagers instead of money when Merry answered, "All right, Pip. I'll see your leg, double it, and raise you three wings."

The little girl with the "cape" wandered over to Legolas. "Hello." she said from somewhere near his knees. He looked down to see her staring up at him inquiringly. "Are you an elf like Miss Arwen?" He nodded. "Yes, I am." The little girl cocked her head to one side cutely. "Do you have pointy ears like Miss Arwen?" He tucked his hair behind his ears, showing off the tips. "The last time I checked." The little girl's eyes grew exceptionally wider. "Can you speak elvish like Miss Arwen?" Legolas chuckled and nodded. The older girl called over to her. "Mella! Don't bother him." The toddler ignored her and leaned forward hopefully. "Can you say 'Mella'?" The elf raised an eyebrow and his lips began to curl. "Yes." Mella smiled and her eyes grew to an enormous size. "How?"

"Eh, Legolas," interrupted Merry, suddenly looking smug, "How do you say 'Full house'?" Frodo and Pippin groaned and threw their cards on the table frustratedly. Sam, however, continued staring at his cards. After a moment, he looked up to see the three hobbits looked at him questioningly. "Well?" Frodo asked. Sam turned to Merry, his face still rather expressionless, and raised his brows. "Royal flush?"

Merry groaned and his eyes rolled upward. He fell forward and began banging his head against the table. Sam laid his cards on the table and leaned forward to collect his winnings when Frodo grabbed his arm. Looking skeptical, Frodo picked up Sam's cards and laid them face-up. He stared at Sam's cards, then at Sam, his face the epitome of utter disbelief. "All you've got a pair of twos!" Merry's and Pippin's exclamations of displeasure mixed with Legolas's and Gimli's laughter at this discovery.

Several minutes later, when Merry had finished sulking and Sam had meted out his meat, several other teenagers entered the room. The eldest was a tall, thin girl with flaxen hair and freckles on her nose. Judging from the way she and a boy who was shorter than she with mousy brown hair, it appeared she was arguing over some petty matter with her brother. A second boy, just older than Mella, with auburn hair and a large, mahogany-colored birthmark on the left side of his neck left them behind and ran for Eowyn, who had traded charges with the pumpkin-faced girl.

The lad bickering with his sibling ignored her and made a beeline for Faramir, who seemed to recognize him. "Hello, Chorim." "Hello sir. How did your search go?" Faramir smiled. "It went quite well." Chorim looked deeply impressed. "I saw a few soldiers taking someone down to the cellars. Is she the one you were searching for?" Faramir nodded solemnly. "Yes, it most certainly was." Chorim appeared quite confused. "But why would she be with Sauron? She's too cute!" He was promptly slapped upside the head by the tall blonde who rolled her eyes and continued spinning around with the baby boy on her hip. Chorim was too busy squawking indignantly to notice he was receiving several exasperated, disapproving frowns from the men in the room.

Mella came bounding over to Eowyn and Arwen. "Miss Arwen, Miss Eowyn," she called in a sing-song-y voice, "Guess what, guess what! The other elf knows how to say my name in elvish!" The two women smiled as the young blonde girl handed the now-dizzy baby boy back to the redheaded girl and turned Mella. "Mella, have you shown them how queens walk?" Arwen, who appeared particularly delighted by this question, asked, "How do queens walk?" Mella wrapped the blanket tightly around her like a cloak, threw her head back so that she was staring at the ceiling, and walked around without bending her knees. Arwen and Eowyn snorted and tried not to giggle too loudly.

The blonde baby boy, who was still stumbling around dizzily, crashed into Arwen's knees, flopped onto the ground, and began to sniffle cutely. The redheaded girl picked him up and tried to make him laugh while Mella climbed onto the shoulders of the boy with auburn hair. Eowyn turned to the bespectacled blonde. "Isn't your mother expecting you soon?" "Yes, ma'am. She also said she'd like to speak with you and Miss Arwen when you were both available." Eowyn helped Arwen stand up. "We're available now. I'll see later on, Faramir." Both husbands stood to give their wives a kiss and chortled when the two women followed the procession of youngsters by, as Mella had put it, "walking like queens."

Gimli, Legolas, and the four hobbits had moved over to where Aragorn and Faramir sat. Aragorn sighed, looking somewhat shocked. "And to think- soon, I'll have one of my own." He sighed again, heavily, and ran his fingers through his hair, away from his face. Gimli grumbled. "Let's just hope it's a bit wiser about folks than that older lad. 'Too cute...'" Added Pippin philosophically, "It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness." This remark received him several curious stares from his companions.

When the initial shock of Pippin's out-of-character comment had worn off, Merry leaned forward. "Speaking of folks and goodness, how did your search go? Well, apparently." Faramir and Aragorn glanced wearily in each other's direction. "Would you like to relate the tale, or shall I?" Aragorn motioned in other's direction. "By all means. Relate away." It was with no small amount of exasperation that Faramir then explained what had occurred earlier in the day. When he recounted the girl's scene, everyone looked first rather sickened, then surprised and confused. The ending was met with silence and contemplation. "That's got to be one of the most gruesome things I've ever had described to me." Pippin nodded in agreement with Merry. "Aye. And you've had blood poured down your throat." All gave Pippin a disgusted look, clearly signaling that blood being poured down someone's throat was relatively far down on their list of things they cared to visualize.

The atmosphere continued in such an uncomfortable strain, with everyone churning over their own thoughts. The unpleasant mood was becoming somewhat unbearable when Legolas turned toward the door expectantly. Moments later, Gandalf burst through the doors. The company popped up at his arrival. He looked more unshaven than usual and was wild with excitement. He stood huffing in the doorway while everyone else in the room waited for him to speak. The wizard took a deep breath and announced with vigorous resolve, "I've found it!"


	10. The testimony of Menethis

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

I'd like to thank teinesamoa for her review, and apologize for my stupid computer having some stupid virus, delaying the entire writing process.

I'd also like to mention that the whole "walking like queens" thing done by Mella was based entirely on one of my nieces, who came up with this when she was almost five. And wasn't she just so cute. Plus, Pippin's "beauty and goodness" line was a quote taken from one who was obviously a very wise man. Leo Tolstoy sure knew what he was talking about.

The room was silent as Gandalf's declaration sank in. Aragorn was the first to rise. "What? What have you found?" Gandalf came forward, sat down, and began alternating between speaking, drinking, and gnawing hungrily on an apple. "I've found _chug chew_ a document that _gulp chew_ might give us a clue to _gulp chug chew_ the identity of our captive. _gulp_ Congratulations on recapturing her, by the way," he added before snatching seven slices of ham from Sam.

He brandished a tome that was literally falling apart at the seams. "I found it at the back of a medical record, dating back to the first war of the Ring. The first was the most obvious, but there were a few others. Here, open it to the third to last entry, in the back." Gandalf continued eating as Aragorn turned the book on its face and opened it from the back, carefully the turning the thin, dusting pages. Gandalf pointed to the specific entry when he saw it and took the book from him, now more calm and pulled-together. He sat it on his knees and began to read aloud, his voice steady and grave.

"The fate of Leniol, one of the elvish general's elder sons, has finally been determined. We base our decision on the testimony of a human man who's regiment fought alongside that of Leniol in the battle against the orcs of Sauron two days ago This man, Menethis, was found in the infirmary with a side wound and a concussion. When questioned, he replied calmly and with complete reason. His exact words were as follows:

'The battle was going against us. The orcs were upon us like a swarm of locust descending on the crops of a harvest. Many men fell. Many good men… I was caught in the side, just south of my ribcage, and I hit my head on a rock. I couldn't see too well from where I was, so I heaved myself up and sat with my back against a boulder.

I saw the elf, Leniol was his name? He came across my sight just as the edges of my vision were starting to get fuzzy. He was battling someone in a long cloak. I was surprised because the cloak looked elvish, but they didn't. They were both handling their swords and didn't notice me. Leniol swung his sword to the left and the cloaked figure dodged it. They swung their sword down across the right, slashed Leniol across his stomach, and he fell to his knees. They came behind him, jerked his head back and slit his throat. They slew many others who came their way, elf and man alike. Then they turned around.'

When asked as to the nature of Leniol's killer, Menethis's exact words were thus:

'She stood up straight. She was thin, despite her many cloaks. She was too tall to be short and too short to be tall. By all accounts, she appeared quite normal. Then she turned. I've never seen the like of it before.

'She was like an alabaster statue, with skin as white snow. Her hair was darkest brown, fiery with its orange and golden regions, resembling a forest fire. She had the ears of an animal, perhaps a fox. Her eyes were silver and Selenic, alert and wide with adrenaline. She peered dead into my eyes and I shivered. Her gaze was strong, piercing and possessed less than all the warmth from the light from the moon. She stared at me and gave off no sense of emotion, no life whatsoever. It was an icy glance that would chill your soul. But she stood upright and proud, a towering figure of power, surrounded by the corpses of those she had slain. She was like the lightning, both terrible and magnificent, victorious over her enemies, who now lay lifeless on the ground, withered trees that the lightning had struck, dark and horrible and yet somehow still possessing a beauty that could not be hid by their twisted fate, but rather, was defined by it. I do believe that lightning struck the sea and mountains tumbled into their valleys, that afterward the whole earth was stilled and silenced for just a moment, when she entered into the world. Some might say that for all her wretchedness, she was beautiful. I say it her wretchedness that made her all the more beautiful.'

It was after this that Menethis could remember no more. When we left him, he was still muttering, 'Wretched and beautiful…' Despite Menethis's condition, it is through his testimony that we have concluded Leniol's fate. We must regretfully give news of his death to his father.

Additional note: Late this afternoon, several hours after his questioning, Menethis died of blood loss and infection. According to the other patients, his final words before death were, 'Horrid and lovely… I shall never forget…'"

Gandalf sighed heavily and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. Aragorn took the tome and scanned the words. Frodo and Pippin both appeared to be contemplating what they had just heard and both nodded. "Truly, it is she."

"How can it be the same person though?" Merry asked. Gimli nodded in agreement. "He's right. It can't possibly be the same person. No one could live that long." Added Legolas softly, "Yes… No _mortal_ could possibly live that long." Sam glanced in his direction. "You think that she's immortal, like the elves?" Faramir took the book. "It would certainly explain how she managed to be in the first war of the Ring and still be alive. And if she was in league with Sauron, it would explain what happened yesterday, on the balcony." Everyone nodded, agreeing. "But if she is with Sauron," asked Pippin, "why did she help that solider when the orc attacked it? Why didn't she just let it finish him off?" "She didn't even need to help him afterward," added Frodo, "She could have just let it finish him off." "Or killed the orc and not bothered to help the solider," put in Merry.

While everyone was speaking, Gandalf dragged his hands down his face, and paused. As the hobbits finished speaking, he rose and walked toward the door. Everyone watched him. Aragorn called out to him. "Where are you going?" Gandalf turned, about to walk through the doorway, and answered, "Down to the cells, to ask the girl herself." "But she won't answer you. She wouldn't last time," mentioned Pippin. Gandalf responded sarcastically, "Thank you for informing me," and closed the door behind him. Everyone paused before Aragorn and Faramir stood and quickly followed, with the remainder of the congregation in tow.

The company made their way down to the dungeons below and, en route, met a small group of young soldiers arriving at the door of the cells. They bowed and saluted smartly as Aragorn and Faramir passed and relaxed when the gesture was returned. "What are you all doing here?" asked Faramir. One of the elder boys answered, "We were, well…" Another piped up, "We went to thank the girl who killed the orc and helped Elias." Aragorn looked at them questioningly. "Were you? And what did she say?"

The young men looked somewhat awkward. The elder answered again. "She, uh, didn't say anything. In fact, she barely even looked at any of us." "It's true," another added. "She just kept staring into space. She hardly even blinked." "She looked at us once, though," put in a third. "She rolled her eyes over to us." He shuddered a bit as he continued. "It was creepy."

Faramir, who had been listening absentmindedly, leaned forward. "Were you not all in the same class as cadets?" The lads nodded, chorusing a "Yes, sir." Faramir continued to scan the lot. "And Elias, he was also in your class?" The boys nodded as Faramir surveyed them. "Where are Hanel, Sammus, and Clorenus?" "They were with us at the battle today. Sammus is in the infirmary." Aragorn raised his brow. "Hanel and Clorenus?"

The young men's faces fell and they glanced mournfully at the floor. They didn't need to say a word for the men to understand. The eldest spoke softly. "We just came from telling Clorenus's mum. Hanel knew him best, so he stayed with her. We told Rowena too." "Clorenus fancied her," added someone. "But she never gave him a chance. She seemed a little upset when we told her." Faramir nodded. "I knew Clorenus. He was never a very good soldier, but what he lacked in skill he made up for in enthusiasm." There was an awkward silence before Aragorn spoke. "Why don't you go visit Sammus in the infirmary?" The young men nodded. "We were going to, sir." They left without saying very much.

Gandalf led the procession down to the cells, now considerably quieter. The walls were high and wide. The air was arid initially, but as they descended, the air grew significantly more dank, and it began to smell more of breath. What few torches dotted the walls gave off little light, the caliginous atmosphere absorbing the illumination.

The group took a turn that led to one of the higher cells. They stopped at when they came to the cell with a guard on either side. The two drowsy-looking guards did their best to snap to attention, but could not manage it. Aragorn understandingly chose to not berate them and walked through when they opened the door.

The girl sat calmly in a cross-legged position on the floor against the right wall, staring straight ahead. Her face was calm, relaxed, and impassive, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Gandalf sat down in front of her, mimicking her posture. Aragorn and Faramir stood behind him while the rest of them lingered in the doorway.

Gandalf wasted no time with formalities and presented the tome, opening it to the page he had read earlier. "This manuscript has been found in the archives, dating back to before the first war of the Ring. It contains within its pages a recounting of someone matching your exact description. Were you in the first war of the Ring?"

The young woman stared at him for a moment before grasping the text and taking in her lap. She scanned the article, then opened it to the front cover and glanced at the date on the first page. She began to flip through the pages with her thumb and middle finger, using the speed and determination of one who is used to flipping through books. She paused on one page and scanned it quickly. Then she picked the book up, turned it around and held it out for Gandalf, her finger pointing to one of the dates.

Gandalf took the book and stared at the date to which she was referring. Aragorn leaned over his shoulder. "Well?" Gandalf handed him the tome and pointed out the date to the two men, who stared at it. Legolas was leaning past the doorway. "Well?" Both men handed him the manuscript and stared at the entry. Gimli and the hobbits stood on their toes, trying to the book. "Well?!" Legolas lowered the book to them and their eyes widened at the written date. Sam whistled in amazement. "Now _that_ was a long time ago." "A very long time ago," added Frodo. "This was before the first war of the Ring," mentioned Legolas, taking the book to again marvel at the date.

Gandalf snapped his fingers to get the elf's attention and motioned for the book. He took it, turned, and looked at the girl sitting placidly in front of him. "What is that date?" he asked, holding it out for her to see. "What is its significance? Is this when you were born?" She answered by receiving the manuscript and placing it in her lap. She turned to the first page and began reading the entries with interest.

She was about halfway through the first when Gandalf retrieved the tome, set it aside, and questioned her again. "Were you the personage mentioned in the article? Did you fight alongside orcs in the first war, killing humans and elves?" The tension in the room was building and Gandalf was struggling to control himself. "Why won't you answer?" he demanded. She responded only by lifting the corner of one eyebrow.

Before Gandalf could acknowledge this lack of communication, another solider arrived at the doorway. "Sire," he said, trying to get Aragorn's attention, "The elf lord Elrond has arrived, sir." Aragorn nodded. "Ah, and ahead of schedule, I see. Very well, I shall be right up. And if you would be so kind as to tell her majesty that her father's here, if she hasn't found out already." The soldier hustled up the stone steps and was followed by the hobbits. Faramir followed Aragorn out the door and stopped behind him when he paused in the doorway. "Gandalf, do you wish to stay?" The elderly wizard stood. "I think I will accompany you." The group walked calmly up the stairs, leaving the prisoner locked in her cell, silently scanning the medical record they had left behind.

When they reached the front, Arwen was found hugging her father and grinning in girlish delight. Elrond admired her protruding stomach in such a way that only a reluctant, but happy grandfather-to-be could. He left her momentarily and she hugged her younger sister as they both began chattering rapidly in elvish, both in a most unregal fashion. Elrond stepped toward Aragorn and stood before him, taking him in the way one examines an object they are trying to sum up. Neither said anything, but after a moment, the elf lord stepped forward and smiled. They embraced and pulled away, both pleased. "It's good to see you, Aragorn," said Elrond. "And you," said Aragorn. "I'm also glad to see that my daughter in such good health, both in body and in disposition."

Gandalf approached the pair. "Elrond. It is good to see you after so long." He put his arm around Elrond's shoulders. "It has been too long. We have much to discuss." "You have no idea."


	11. A moment of pure euphoria

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

I'd like to thank teinesamoa for her review. Yes, I admit, it is moving rather slowly, but don't worry; it'll be worth the wait. I'd also like to thank Eccentric Banshee for her review. (Hope you're feeling better soon.)

Said Elrond, "You were right. We do have much to discuss." "Yes, your visit was well timed," Gandalf responded. Elrond had been sitting in the same spot for about the past quarter of an hour, watching Aragorn, Faramir, and Gandalf pace back and forth, gesturing wildly at times, recounting the events of the last few weeks and, especially, the previous day. Legolas and Gimli had both headed outside, one to practice his archery, the other to smoke. Frodo was in the library. Sam was in the kitchens picking up on a recipe for lamb stew in exchange for his grandmother's recipe for honey mead bread. Merry and Pippin had followed him in the hopes that dinner's appetizers would be finished and were promptly chased from the room, only to disappear outside.

Elrond inquired, "Is she fit for questioning, this… What is she called?" Gandalf responded, sounding exasperated. "As we said, we don't know! She has thus far said nothing, made no motions to cooperate, and all attempts at communication up till now have failed- utterly. We don't know who she is, where she's from, why she's here-" "With those ears and those teeth, we don't even know _what_ she is," Faramir interrupted. Aragorn added, "But other than that, yes, you can talk to her."

Elrond rose and followed Gandalf to the doors and down the corridor. Aragorn and Faramir were following closely behind, but Faramir was pulled to one side by an nervous-looking attendant. He waved his hand, signaling that he would follow, so Aragorn continued without him.

The trio made their way down the stairway to the prisoner's cell and the guards allowed them inside. She sat inside, still staring at the pages of the book, completely unchanged from the time that they had left. For several minutes, Elrond tried his hand at speaking with her, with a similar lack of success. Elrond stood, shaking his head. "You weren't exaggerating; for all the good it does me, I might as well be banging my head against a brick wall- nothing's moved and my head hurts." Aragorn nodded. "She does seem to have that affect on people."

The elf lord turned, addressing an exasperated-looking wizard. "I believe you mentioned that this journal," he brandished the deteriorating book, "had something in it about her." Gandalf nodded. "Yes, on the third to last page. Be warned, however," he continued as Elrond flipped to the back, scattering pages. "The vocabulary suddenly becomes a bit… flowery. Though, that might have been the blood loss."

Elrond paused on one page and stared. "I think the word you're looking for is 'blurry.' Or perhaps even 'nonexistent.'" Gandalf appeared somewhat baffled. "No, they were quite clear." He strode over, peering into the pages. His lips parted in disbelief. Chunks of the paragraph had completely disappeared, and in their places were large, grey smears, if anything at all. Elrond continued. "Then you have far better vision than I."

Gandalf flipped frantically through the book, occasionally spotting a similar situation. He then got on his knees, picking up pages from the ground. Two pages had like sentences. Gandalf muttered under his breath, "Erased. Gone. Everything that mentioned…" He trailed off, the realization dawning on him. He raised his eyes from the pages to the young woman still seated calmly in front of him, staring calmly at him. Gandalf continued slowly, softly. "Everything that mentioned _you_." She scarcely blinked in response.

Gandalf continued to stare, as though willing her to say something, and suddenly rose. He was beat to his destination by Aragorn, who asked the guards outside, "Did either of you notice anything unusual while we were away?" The two looked at each other. One spoke. "No, I don't think so." The other nodded in agreement. "Mm-hmm. Except that smell." "Right, there was smell, wasn't there?"

Aragorn held up one hand. "Smell? What smell?" The second answered, "There was an odd smell about three minutes-" "Four minutes." "Right, four minutes after you left. It was this earthy smell-" "Like leather. It lasted for eight minutes-" "Seven minutes." "Right. For about seven minutes. But other than that, nothing." "Not unusual-" "At any point." "Completely normal-" "The entire time."

Aragorn stared at the pair for a moment. "Are you twins, by any chance?" They shook their heads. "No sir." "Just very used to one another." Aragorn nodded numbly, then murmured. "Like leather…"

Immediately, Faramir came leaping down the stairway, jumping every other stair. He skidded down the hall, stopping just past the door. "Aragorn you may want to come upstairs." Startled by Faramir's sudden intrusion, Aragorn asked, "What's wrong?" Faramir continued breathlessly. "It's Arwen, she-" He was cut off by Aragorn, who croaked something resembling "Ar… ay," made several queer expressions very quickly, and suddenly ran down the hall and up the stairs, skipping two at a time. Elrond came up behind him and sounds from further up the stairs gave the impression that they were trying fight past the other in an attempt to reach the top.

Gandalf, though somewhat startled, asked Faramir, "What on earth happened?" The two began up the stairs, using all of them, as Faramir recounted what had happened upstairs.

_earlier_

Eowyn, Arwen and her elf friend, Luthien, were sitting on a sofa in the library. Luthien was an elf with long, thick, chestnut hair and lips that stretched like accordions when they moved. Frodo had chosen not to invade the conversation, but hovered about, listening in on what Arwen was saying. "… they brought her back down to her cell and she hasn't moved since." "Really? And see hasn't said a word?" Arwen shook her head. Luthien tilted her head to one side. "I don't blame her for acting like that, actually." Eowyn almost spilled her tea. "How could 'not blame her?'"

Luthien continued matter-of-factly. "Well, if you think about it, she was knocked out of a tree, chased through the woods, knocked out of another tree, tied up in a bag for an extended period of time, dumped on the ground, questioned, yelled at, dragged through a castle, and thrown in a cell. When she did the only normal thing, that is try to escape, she was chased through the woods again, chased up a tree, bound when she came down from the tree, bound again after killing that orc and helping that soldier, thrown over a horse with a knife at her throat, and thrown back in her cell. All this, despite the fact that she never presented a threat or a bother to anyone, except the dead orc, and in fact never even made herself known. If all this had happened to me, particularly within the span of about two days, I imagine that I would be quite hostile as well."

Eowyn and Arwen stared at Luthien for a moment, looking like words failed them. Arwen's pushed forward her lower lip. "I hate it when you do that?" An amused Luthien asked, "What?" "When you do that!" Arwen turned to Eowyn. "She can argue any side of a story and do so convincingly. People have been unable to get the best of her since she was thirteen." Luthien put on a false pout, feigning offense, as though her dignity was under attack. "Now really, my little tulip, I resent that. You make it sound as though I was a lawyer. And what's more, I was _not_ thirteen when I last verbally outwitted." She drew herself up proudly. "I was eleven." Eowyn snorted, muttering under her breath, "Even worse." Luthien smiled, both coyly and winningly.

Arwen, in her somewhat reclined position, placed her cup on her stomach when she reached for another biscuit. Eowyn's lip twitched before she restrained herself, but Luthien's reaction was one of uninhibited chortles and giggles. "Ooh Arwen _hee hee hee_, since when do you balance tea cups on your belly? You look positively silly _hee hee hee_." Arwen pushed her lower lip forward. "It's a too much of a hassle to have to lean over, put the cup on the table, pick up the biscuit, pick the cup back up, and then lean back with the cup _and_ the biscuit. This method is considerably more convenient."

Luthien eyed the biscuit Arwen was eating. "I don't even know why you're eating them. You've never liked cinnamon biscuits before." Eowyn watched with amusement as the two went back and forth. Arwen continued. "I've taken a liking to plenty of foods of which I was never previously fond. My midwife says it's perfectly normal." Luthien smiled cynically. "'Plenty?' How much 'plenty'?" The other elf pursed her lips. "Enough, plenty."

"Hmm." Luthien leaned backwards to Frodo and, barely lowering her voice, spoke through one side of her mouth. "What's she really eating?" He muttered back, "Everything that can't run away." After this, both individuals had to dodge a flying cushion.

The next two or three moments continued peacefully enough, until Arwen felt a sharp pain. She tensed and didn't move, so the others in room didn't notice. The pain left quickly but returned within ten minutes, this time much more painfully. It left again, yet in came back. This time, Arwen's feet came and pushed violently against the table and she began to breathe heavily. Eowyn and Luthien sat bolt upright and looked panicked. "What's wrong?" Luthien asked, clearly terrified. Arwen said "Contraction, contraction, contraction, contraction, contraction…"

Eowyn promptly leapt from her seat and ran for help while Luthien held Arwen's hand, mimicking her breathing pattern as though it would offer some encouragement, and Frodo tripped trying to do the same.

_currently_

Arwen was now in the infirmary, with her contractions two minutes apart and, as the midwife and the medic had put it, "most definitely going into labor." Aragorn and Elrond had been told there was nothing they could do to help at the moment, but they would be called if they were needed. Until then, the two concerned figures stood pacing beside the door, refusing to eat. Everyone else had been called to dinner long ago and could talk of nothing but what was happening in the hospital wing. Sam, being the only one with a wife and child, dominated parts of the conversation. "When Rosie was pregnant with Elanor, she couldn't be anywhere in the house while meat was cooking; just the smell of it cooking would make her nauseous. And she started eating all these odd food combinations, like jam on her fish."

Faramir wondered aloud, "Did Rosie ever say what giving birth feels like?" Pausing between chews, Sam thought about it and answered, "I did ask her once actually." "What did she say?" Merry asked. Sam swallowed and continued. "She said it was like vomiting, only in reverse." Many of the other diners wrinkled their noses at the thought. "It seems like all that would be rather painful, wouldn't it?" Merry remarked. A plump, deep-voiced old woman who was passing around food answered. "It's awful." Merry leaned over to look at her. "How awful?" The old woman's lids lowered, her brows rose, and her shriveled lips pursed, all making for a very dramatic look. "Worse than being kicked in the crotch, but not as bad as passing a kidney stone." No one pressed the matter.

There was silence at the table for a few moments before Gimli spoke. "Things will be quite different after that child's born." Pippin appeared confused at this statement, a common look for him. "Why? Won't things go back to normal?" Sam snorted the naiveté of his friend's remark, but the old woman did appear to be at all amused. "Quite the opposite, young man. Everything in a new parent's life makes a complete turn." Frodo asked, "How?" The old woman continued. "It's quite simple really. The infant will spend his days sleeping and crying, the parents will be awoken at all hours of the night, and in some cases, the mother will go through mood swings." Eowyn paused between chews to ask, "Did you go through mood swings? What kind?" The old woman thought for a moment. "I can't quite be sure- it was some time ago and is now a blur. But I do vaguely remember throwing a bowl at my poor nurse." No one was quite sure how to respond to this.

In the hospital wing, Arwen was lying in her bed, propped up by pillows, covered in sweat and obviously exhausted, but smiling peacefully. Aragorn was in the same position next to her, smiling warmly at the tiny bundle she held in her arms. The small, red infant, while not the cutest baby ever born, lay curled up against his mother, wrapped up in a blanket, sleeping peacefully. Arwen fingered the tiny fist. "We have a son," she said quietly and gleefully. Aragorn smiled wider. "Hmm… Eldarion, our first child." He twirled the thick dark strands of hair on his son's head around his fingers. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated euphoria.


	12. A series of questions

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

"Eowyn, I really don't think this to be the wisest course of action." "But maybe it would work. Faramir, it's not as though any other maneuver's succeeded. So it's at least worth a try. Won't you give it the benefit of the doubt?" Faramir looked doubtfully at his wife, as though the very last thing he wanted to do was give it the benefit of the doubt, but he eventually nodded. "Alright, if you honestly think it might work." Eowyn smiled, gave her husband an encouraging kiss on his cheek, and left to practice her fencing, leaving Faramir to think and sort out his thoughts.

Meanwhile, Arwen was still upstairs in the hospital wing. Her midwife had instructed her to stay abed until she was stronger, despite Arwen's constant insistence that she felt quite fine. "Unbelievable! I feel perfectly alright. I see no reason why I should not immediately get back to my responsibilities." "I'm sorry, your Highness, but a woman who's gone into labor within the last twenty-four hours can hardly be described as 'perfectly alright.'"

Aragorn had stopped trying to interrupt these squabbles that were erupting between Arwen and the midwife, but Elrond sided entirely with the midwife. "She's right, Arwen. You should rest for at least a few days." "No."

People around her began to stare, but in her haste to speak her mind, she failed to notice. "The moment I get out of this bed is the moment my baby break ends." Elrond tried to remind her that he was still her father. "Arwen-" But…

"I'VE BEEN SITTING AROUND FOR A MONTH WITH NOTHING TO DO! I'M A QUEEN AND **I NEED TO GET BACK TO IT**!"

While his wife continued to rant, hopping up and down as best as she could while sitting on her bed, Aragorn wisely slipped away. He promptly gathered up Eldarion from the nurse who was holding him, staring at the queen and looking terrified. Aragorn brought him back over to Arwen and tried to get her attention, murmuring, "Arwen, here" while handing Eldarion off to her. She immediately fell silent, clearly feeling huffy that her maternal instincts were overriding her urge to fuss, and possibly feeling that she had been tricked into silence. However, she quickly forgot about it and was soon shushing the babe to sleep.

The midwife, a short, dumpy woman in her mid-forties called Mrs. Miggs, dragged Aragorn away, whispering to him as soon as they were out of hearing range. "How did you think to do that?" Aragorn shrugged. "I had a hunch. Why is she acting like this?" Mrs. Miggs waved the thought off carelessly. "Oh, she's fine. Plenty of mothers are contentious a few days after they've had a baby.

"What I can't understand is all this energy. She only had that child eighteen hours ago. She should be exhausted." "Yes, but, well… She isn't."

Mrs. Miggs suddenly appeared enlightened. "Maybe it's all in her head. You know, like with hypochondriacs. She thinks she should feel well, so she does."

Aragorn was prevented from responding when Faramir approached him from behind. "Aragorn," he whispered. "Aragorn, I need to speak with you. It's about… whoever she is." Aragorn looked back at Arwen, who was alternating between trying to lull Eldarion to sleep and exchanging angry mutters with Elrond. Mrs. Miggs was trying to coax the frightened nurse from before into coming within four feet of Arwen. Aragorn looked back at Faramir. "Let's talk somewhere else."

The two men walked down to a small balcony and sat at a table. Faramir spoke immediately. "Eowyn was talking to Luthien last night and she told me about an idea she has to further our currently nonexistent communication with that girl down in the cells. It's a simple idea: apologize."

Aragorn stared at Faramir, his expression failing to alter in any way. "… I don't understand." Faramir sighed. "Go down there, apologize for making the last two days irritating, and maybe she'll respond with so much as a blink when you say something." "… I don't understand."

Faramir huffed exasperatedly and spoke slowly, as one might to a child. "Listen. Go down to cells. Take her upstairs, into the air. Say something to the effect of 'I regret my actions that you have witnessed since our first meeting. Please forgive me.' After you have said this, ask her simple questions, such as, 'From where do you come?' And do not, under any circumstances, behave in a manner that could be considered hostile. _Now_ do you understand?"

Gandalf walked past. "I've just a very interesting conversation with Luthien. I'd like to discuss an idea of hers with the both you." Aragorn spoke without turning away from Faramir. "Gandalf." The wizard turned to look at him as he continued to speak. "Gandalf, Faramir and I have both taken leave of our senses. Tell Luthien we'll try out her idea if she won't say relate any more of her wise plans to anyone else." Gandalf turned to walk through the door, only to discover a young man named Alec (you remember, from chapter three) was standing there behind him. "I could bring it as long as I'm going that way, if you'd like!" Aragorn continued to stare in the same direction. "It would be fine, Alec." Alec grinned widely at the king's answer, saluted, and quickly turned toward the stairs. Shortly thereafter, the sounds of tumbling, a series of yelps and various other destructive noises came from the direction of the stairs. Aragorn never changed his appearance, but he winced and closed his eyes when he heard a woman's shriek and the crashing of pots and pans as they fell to the floor. The last sound heard was that of a lid as it landed at the bottom of the stairs, loudly twirling about in one spot before coming to a stop. At the end of it all, Alec could be heard yelling, "I'm fine, everything's fine!"

If the young woman was at all surprised to suddenly be shown politely from the cell where she'd spent the previous two days, escorted into a sunlit courtyard and seated in a chair at a table, she didn't show it. Her eyes quickly scanned the area. The sun was bright and the air clear. The stones that made up the floor tiles and the walls were a faded sort of white and the foliage was bright green from the morning dew. Aragorn sat at the table as well, with Faramir and Gandalf sitting on either side of him.

Aragorn was the first to speak. "Hello. I am Aragorn, the king of men. You have already been introduced to Gandalf the White. This is Faramir, son of Denethor II." He took a deep breath, and continued slowly. "As you may know, orcs have been attacking the local towns, having been roused by some unknown force. Two mornings ago, during our pursuit to discover this inciter, we found you. Due to the uneasy manner of our engagement and to your… unorthodox appearance, we hastened to bring you into our custody. Upon doing so, I admit that our sequence of questioning was unnecessarily coarse. Your obviously displeased reaction influenced us to bring you down to your prison cell. The following orc attack interfered with your natural desire to vacate the area, but did bring you promptly back into our charge. Due to the unsettling nature of our previous encounters, you have been unfairly judged as an unsavory character. I…" Aragorn paused again, as though he considered his next choice to be almost painful. "I apologize for my actions." Gandalf and Faramir nodded in agreement. "As do we."

The girl still didn't move for several moments, and Aragorn was considering giving up the entire idea, when her cloaks began to rustle softly on one side. The three men watched with interest as she produced something from underneath her cloaks and calmly placed it on the table before Aragorn. It was a knife, longer than a dagger, but shorter than a sword. The blade itself was well polished and the hilt was bound in leather. It was the dirk Aragorn had flung in her direction before she lost her balance and fell from the tree two days before.

Aragorn stared at it before picking it up by the hilt. He glanced up the girl and placed the dirk on the opposite side of the table in front of her. He also removed sword and laid it in its scabbard on the ground. Faramir did the same and Gandalf followed suit with his staff. "You are now the only one present with any means to defend themselves," Aragorn pointed out. "And as you can see, there are no guards. It's just us.

"We would care to make a few inquisitions. Any answer at all that you could give us would be helpful, and we would grateful. Would you be willing to answer?" Without moving her head, the girl's eyes rolled smoothly from their normal position to Gandalf at her left, then to Faramir at her right. She looked back at Aragorn and didn't move. Aragorn waited, cleared his throat, and mentioned in a low whisper, "I think she would prefer it if the two of you were not present." Gandalf and Faramir looked doubtfully at him, but slowly rose from their chairs, retrieved their belongings, and left, glancing behind. Faramir whispered to Gandalf, "Do you think it best that we leave him with her?" Gandalf answered, "I know not, but I will trust in Aragorn's instincts."

When they were alone, Aragorn glanced at her and removed a book from his lap, setting it on the table. He opened it to reveal many maps. "From where do you come?" he asked. She looked at the pages and slowly pulled it to herself. She flipped through the pages easily and soon paused to glance at one that caught her interest. She ran a long, white finger down one of the pages, dragging a claw-like nail along the border one country, and turned it back so that it faced Aragorn once more. He leaned over and studied the indicated map. It was a map of one of the more mountainous northern countries She moved her thumb over one of the less mountainous regions, near the foothills.

Aragorn nodded. "Where did you go when you left?" She slid one hand under the front cover and closed it. She opened it again to the first page, revealing a large map that covered the vast majority of Middle Earth. She placed her hand in the middle and spread out her fingers, covering much of the area.

Aragorn swallowed and asked again. "You know of the inscription depicting you during the time of the first war of the Ring, so I already know you were there, but… How long were you with Sauron?" She stared for a moment and slowly rose, walking around the table to where he was seated. She reached beneath his chair and came up with the sword Narsil. She unsheathed it, paying no heed to Aragorn. She held the hilt carefully, using her index finger to support the tip of the blade. She ran her eyes up the edges, starring at it intently. She brought it upright in front of her face, and glanced at the man still watching her with fascination.

His breathing became heavier as she lowered the blade mere inches from his face. His breathing slowed when she let the blade land softly on his fingers, just skimming the knuckles above his palm.

Aragorn came back twelve minutes later, looking somewhat excited. He immediately spoke with Gandalf. "Come, friend. We have much to discuss." Gandalf hurried along behind him, but such was Aragorn's enthusiasm in the matter that he did not slow his speed. He quickly pried Elrond away from his daughter and grandson and gathered them all together in a study with Faramir. "I have just finished speaking with that girl, and I've been informed of several things." Faramir broke in, saying, "You spoke _with_ her, or you spoke _to_ her?" Aragorn paused. "… To.

"Regardless, she has informed me of several things of great importance. First of all, besides the fact that she was indeed with Sauron at a very early stage during his campaign against the world, she left shortly after his fall and has roamed the world since. I know she was born in the north, but I haven't yet established when. She was probably a member of his inner circle of associates, hence the reason the orcs are roused by her presence. Also, I inquired why she left Mordor, and I have reason to believe she was being detained, possibly because she was of some value." "Did she say how she managed to remove the words from the book?" Gandalf asked anxiously. "She has a small vial of oil on her." Aragorn explained. "When she rubbed it on a page with part of her cloak, the ink smudged."

"She said all this?" Faramir asked amazingly. Aragorn shrugged. "No, she still hasn't said a word. I think she may be a mute. She said it all with hints and gestures of the hand." "Such as…?" Gandalf asked. "An indication on a page, or something of that manner," Aragorn explained. "Upon inquiring of her departure from Mordor, she looked at a woman carrying a cage with a bird inside, so her leaving must have been reluctantly held back. When I asked how long she was with Sauron, she brought Narsil to my fingers, just above my palm." Elrond thought for a moment and murmured, "Similar to when Isildur cut the Ring from Sauron's hand." Aragorn nodded. "Yes, she implied that she left shortly after then."

"What else have you learned?" Gandalf asked. Aragorn continued, "Little else, except her traits." "And what are those?" Elrond asked. "Besides that fact that she never says anything, she analyzes a situation before she makes a decision. Her movements are slow. She makes it a point to notice everything… She's a thinker."

Someone knocked on the door, it opened, and Legolas peered inside. "Do I interrupt anything?" "No," Gandalf answered. "What is it?" "Well, I thought I should inform you that that woman is sitting on a column outside, reading a book and refusing to come down."

Everyone's eyes widened to their greatest extent. Aragorn squeaked, "What is she doing sitting a column?" "How did she even get up there?" Faramir asked. "They're four and a half feet around and twelve feet high." "Just as long as you know she's up there," Legolas said. "Is she doing anything destructive?" Aragorn asked. Upon receiving a shake of the head, he continued, "Let's just let her be for right now. We still have to decide what to do with her for the time being."

"What are we going to do with her?" Faramir asked when Legolas left. Elrond said, "I for one would like to speak with her myself." Aragorn led him outside.

Sure enough, she sat atop the only decorative column in the row, her many cloaks falling about the edges. She was carefully studying the maps in Aragorn's book, the halves draped over her lap. She ignored everyone on the ground and did not let it bother her that she was attracting many stares from passersby. Aragorn and Elrond stood just at the edge, Faramir and Gandalf standing a few paces back. Aragorn called up to her, "Milady." She paused in her meticulous inspection to shift the pages just so she could see him. "We would like make a few more inquiries of you." She considered this for a moment, then slowly closed the book. She brought it just over Aragorn's head, dropped it for him to catch, and slid smoothly down the thick column. She stood calmly before them, as statuesque as ever.

The two led her back to the table and sat down. Trying not to seem unnerved by the fact that he had not yet seen her blink, Elrond asked, "We know that you sided with Sauron for some time until just after he fell from power, and we assume you were being kept against your will. But what I would like to know is why." She placed her hands on the table in a relaxed manner, but continued sit perfectly upright, her back not touching the chair. She stroked the small area below the second knuckle on her ring finger. Aragorn took note of this. "Something to do with the Ring… Could you more specific?"

At this, she clasped her hands in front of her in a most business-like fashion and didn't respond. Aragorn and Elrond appeared distraught and ignored one of the maids, a woman in her thirties, when she came the walk, complaining to another about amount of dust on the courtyard floor. They listened, however, when she angrily exclaimed, "Look! You can even see that girl at the table drawing patterns in it with her foot!"

The two, the elf lord, and the wizard all appeared startled at this woman's acclamation, but upon peering under the table, they discovered that she was indeed drawing a figure in the dust with the tip of her tiny ankle boots. It was an oval shape, similar to a halo. But it did have the appearance of the sideways view of a ring.

Aragorn desperately struggled to comprehend this vague, unspoken message. "It's a ring, but we already know that." He grew increasingly frustrated when she dragged her boot in the dust and wiped the ring away. "_Humph_. Wonderful. She's led us to a dead end." Gandalf looked at him disapprovingly. "She has done nothing yet with reason. Her message says something." Elrond huffed contentiously. "What does it mean then; that she could destroy the Ring? It was possible for anyone to destroy the Ring. They need only cast it into the flames of Mount Doom." Faramir also stopped his observation. "There's no new message that I can see. All she's done now is make another ring in the dirt."

There was a heavy silence and everyone seemed unhappy. All at once, however, the realization of Faramir's statement sank in. Gandalf was the first to voice what they all thought. "She made another ring. She could create a new Ring."

She stared unfeelingly ahead.


	13. Aragorn's decision

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

"Thank-you" goes to Celeblas, Silver Leaf for her review. Yes, Eldarion is his real name; to teinesamoa. Aren't we all glad to be finding out some stuff about her?

"She can _what_!" Gimli was practically screaming, refusing to believe what his ears had just told his brain. Sam and Merry had looked doubtful while Frodo and Pippin believed instantly. Legolas just flat-out didn't seem to want to believe it. "How could she make another Ring? Wouldn't that take a certain amount of skill which just so happens to be in limited supply?" Gandalf rolled his eyes towards the ceiling in an exasperated manner, clearly irritated at the hint of impertinence in the elf's voice. "Of course it would. That's why it's a feat in and of itself."

Aragorn had not yet left her side, still trying to drag whatever information he could out of her. He instructed had Faramir to scrounge up something with which write, lest anything they learn be forgotten. Arwen had summoned Elrond to her side when Eldarion's face suddenly developed an itchy, red rash. When asked why he opted for curing what could have been a mere case of eczema, he answered, "Grandchild before mysterious mute," and ran off to calm his own hysterical offspring.

"Gandalf, how would she make another Ring? I thought the dwarves did that," asked Merry. "One need not be a dwarf to forge a Ring." He answered. "One need only understand how to do so; and if she did understand and still does, then our troubles far exceed what we previously thought."

Pippin looked confused, a common look for him, and asked simply, "Why?" Gandalf looked at him incredulously. Merry looked annoyed. "Oh, Pip," he muttered bitterly. Pippin almost shrank back and tried to defend himself. "I mean, if she hasn't made a Ring yet, why would she now?" Frodo murmured to Sam, "He does have a slight point there."

"The problem," Gandalf explained, "is that she _could_. Sauron only recently fell from power; the Ring was not long ago destroyed. The opportunity to take the Dark Lord's place of power has not presented itself until now. She would have no rivals. And if she cared to, she could turn Middle Earth to ruins.

"Even if she never makes another Ring, she is an inconvenience, a danger, to all around her. You have seen how her mere presence attracts the orcs, and the chaos they cause. As long as she remains, they will continue to come."

Whatever monologue the wizard had prepared, he didn't get a chance to finish. A middle-aged man poked his head through the doorway with news that was anything but pleasant. Another swarm of orcs had attacked a small village. They had already left, but the damage was far from small. When he left, Gandalf sat down and put a hand over his eyes. "Case in point," he muttered darkly.

The scene was a certified disaster area. Corpses littered the ground, building were smoldering, and the disgusting smell of warm blood and burnt flesh hung in the air. Aragorn silently eyed the surroundings with nothing short of pure, unadulterated rage. He watched four men carrying the bodies of an older couple. A few feet off, a man and two children scanned the carcasses. They paused at the remains of a woman, and the man knelt next to her, staring in horrid disbelief. He made a choking sound in his throat and leaned over her, holding her close to him. He rocked back and forth while his son sobbed and his daughter, barely older that a toddler, shook her by the shoulder, screaming, "Mama! _Mama!_"

Aragorn watched the procession of events and other unfolding around him, shaking with violently with fury. He suddenly turned and kicked an orc helmet, yelling furiously.

"Aragorn!" He turned to see Legolas. The elf continued softly, "You will break you foot if you continue to do that." The human man ignored him and looked again at the gruesome activities that surrounded him. His elfin companion joined him, staring miserably. Gimli wandered by. "This was no ambush," he said. "This was a massacre!" He had worded it perfectly.

"You mustn't be angry with yourself," Legolas murmured, but Aragorn refused to be comforted. "We could have prevented it." The elf looked at the man, saying still quietly, "You had no way of knowing." "We could found out!" Aragorn's outburst silenced Legolas, but the king's own grim thoughts soon came into the light. "…This can't go on."

Faramir, looking desolate, approached him from one side with the death tally. The vast majority of the town would have to either to relocate or bring in others to rebuild the shattered community. The whole time Aragorn listened, but did not look at him. After several moments of silence, Aragorn spoke. "Faramir, write to your brother-in-law to be ready to send an army to Mordor if needed."

This statement caused several heads to turn immediately in his direction, all shocked. "Mordor?" Faramir asked. "Whatever for?" "We're going to rid ourselves and Middle Earth of the orcs permanently." He turned and walked away, Faramir following closely behind him. "What's brought you to this decision?" "If the orcs are dead, they can't attack anything." This simple answer didn't seem to satisfy Faramir. "If riots are your concern, why don't we just station more guards? And if you think that that girl thing is causing it, we can rid of her."

"And what then?" Aragorn asked, rounding on Faramir. "The orcs don't come because they're drawn in. They attack because they are alive, and will continue to do so until there are none left. They will never stop. And as for our young friend with no name, I doubt that she's done anything more than throw our predicament into the light.

"It will take time, planning, and effort, but there exists no doubt in my mind that if we attempt it, we can exterminate the orcs forever. What say you?"


	14. Careful observation

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

My first thank-you goes to Lady Luthien for a lovely review. It had me hopping up and down in my chair doing a little cheer. (P.S. I also love Coldplay and The Phantom of the Opera, and I also hate slash and tYpInG LiKe tHiS.) My second thank you is for Eccentric Banshee. (This chick gives some great reviews. Read her story "Governed by Fury.") I actually knew about Viggo Mortensen breaking his toe on the orc helmet. That's why I wrote it in. My third thank you is for teinesamoa. I liked that last chapter- short and to the point.

I guess as good a time as any; I'm planning a new LOTR story! I'll be posting it after I'm finished with this project. Few of the main characters will be there. It features a young man from this story and introduces a young woman we haven't met yet. I have a question for you all- should this be a romance, or is there too much unnecessary romance crammed into stories these days? I'll leave that up to you. Email me, review, whatever you like. If you email, post the title (Blind Sight) in the Subject box, or it'll get deleted. Thank you!

Aragorn looked back at the White City again before continuing his trek. He, along with many others, had decided to set out, separate into small groups, and kill off every orc rabble they could find, before making their way toward Mordor. He was one of a great number that also looked back, thinking already of hearth and home. It was not the first time, and it would certainly not be the last before their journey's end. Arwen was standing on a balcony, after Luthien used her abnormal powers of persuasion to convince Mrs. Miggs that "it couldn't hurt." Eowyn had joined Arwen and both stood watching their husbands depart, hopefully to return. "Can you still see them?" Arwen shook her head. "Not really. They're too far away now.

"May I ask you a personal question?" Eowyn nodded. "Why didn't you go with them? I may have helped, were it not for Eldarion. But you could have left to fight with them. You have already proved yourself a worthy fighter, and you still have no child for which to care." "It's true. I could have left with them. I wanted to. But Faramir and I discussed it, and we decided I should stay and help you with Gondor, and with Eldarion." Arwen refused to accept this. "I'd be fine with Luthien." Eowyn didn't look the Queen. "You were only half right; I don't a child to care for _yet_." _"YET!"_

At the same moment, Legolas had been plodding along with the men, watching them glance behind at Minas Tirith, when he perked up and looked around, expecting to see something of interest. Turning to Aragorn he asked, "Did you hear something?" The man thought about it, answering, "No."

The elf looked at the girl, who was sitting bound atop a small pony hands bound, and noticed that one of those animalistic ears had twitched back into place, implying that she had heard something as well. At least he knew it wasn't just him. Well, he would listen for it, and if it didn't turn up again, there was no need to worry.

Gimli grumbled aloud about her. "I don't see why we should need to take her along." Aragorn said, "What else are we going to do with her?" "It doesn't matter! She'll just hold us up!" When listening to the dwarf's hot rants and raves lost interest, which it did quickly, Frodo approached his wizard friend. "Gandalf, why is she coming along?" Gandalf said, "Different reasons. As Aragorn said, we have little else we can do with her. We don't know what she'd do if we left her behind. We don't want to turn her loose on the world before we're certain of her intentions. If she's for us, she may be able to help us, or act as a guide in some way. If she's against us, it's convenient for us to keep her nearby." Frodo was silent for a while, then said, "I think you shouldn't talk about her like that; at least not so loudly." Gandalf looked at him curiously. "And why do you think that?" The hobbit looked back at her. "I think she has more control over her situation than we allow ourselves to believe."

The other three hobbits listened attentively to this conversation. Pippin asked Merry, "Do you think she's holding back on something?" Merry shrugged. "It could be. Women are unusual things." "Particularly the enigmatic ones," added Sam.

The boredom set in almost immediately after the men had finished mourning their departure. For miles, various groups could be heard singing ballads to keep themselves occupied. Some were sad, tales of loss and tragedy. A few were beautiful and made one smile. Others could be described as goofy, making little sense and often sung for the sheer enjoyment of singing. At least once, a song would arise that was racy, the kind sons learned while eavesdropping on their fathers and caused mothers to wrinkle their noses and tsk. Most, however, were happy little ditties, written during good times, about good times. They involved food, friends, and family. The men sang these until their throats were raw and their lungs ached. When this happened, everyone in one company encouraged the hobbits to join in, an invitation which was willingly accepted. One hobbit would sing a verse until the crowd knew chorus and joined in. All four Halflings roamed through their throng of a score or so men, singing and spreading the song about until everyone had heard at least one verse.

"Food and drink and friends aplenty-

Without that, my life is empty!

All the riches I can behold

Would be useless, 'cause you can't eat gold!

Give me all these things and lots of luck!

I'll be happier than a potbelly pig in the muck!

I'll sing till all of the notes have been struck

If I had that kind of life!

Oh, my wife and my children and my garden at home

Are the best I can hope for, the best I've known,

But I'll more of it, anything you can

Offer up. It would make me a delighted man!

Give me all these things and lots of luck!

I'll be happier than a potbelly pig in the muck!

I'll sing till all of the notes have been struck

If I had that kind of life!

The pleasurable thing in the whole world

Would be to always be with my favorite girl.

I'd use every chance I had to tell her

I love her more than the blackberry wine in the cellar.

Give me all these things and lots of luck!

I'll be happier than a potbelly pig in the muck!

I'll sing till all of the notes have been struck

If I had that kind of life!"

This continued for several minutes and almost twelve verses before the laughter finally died down. With their hearts full, their hopes high, and their cheeks sore from grinning, the rabble marched on. When midday approached, everyone had to pause for a small meal, after which they went on their way.

The climate soon turned against them. The heat became suffocating. Several men begged Aragorn for permission to take off their shirts, a privilege that was quickly granted. The day dragged on as the sun beat down on them from overhead, cooking their flesh like dough over hot coals. Sweat dripped down foreheads like water droplets, and by the end of the day, everyone had wondered how the girl could sit above them on that horse, wearing so many cloaks. She sat rigid as a rock on the saddle, but her head began to hang after the heat set in. It was all very unpleasant.

Nighttime was welcomed with their hearts opened wider than their arms. Everyone settled down on a nap kit except the girl. Her hands remained tied in front of her, but instead of lying down, she sat with her back to a tree, pulled her knees up close to her chest, and just barely tilted her head back. To any passerby, it might have looked like she was resting for a moment, not sleeping while sitting upright.

In the morning, everything was relatively calm. The air was heavy and the foliage wet with dew. A light fog hung in the atmosphere, and everything was peaceful. Except that she was gone.

But she wasn't gone the way everyone thought she was. She hadn't disappeared, merely relocated. She was found sitting next to a very terrified Frodo, who had awoken to find her hovering over him, staring. He was now sitting up straight while she inspected him curiously, a look of careful, preoccupied interest on her white face. She was closely eyed but not stopped for fear of what see might do to the hobbit if she felt threatened. She moved around him, feeling a lock of his hair or staring into his eyes. She looked as though she was trying to find something. She paid careful attention to his ears, stroking the filmy skin that made up the tip. She also studied his feet, noting the large size and rough texture, pinching or prodding to see how he reacted. Lastly, she examined his injured shoulder and finger, feeling the wounds with scrutiny. When she had finished her observation, she sat and watched him until breakfast, during which time she ate little, opting instead to watch with fascination the speed of a hobbit's appetite. Afterwards, she returned to her spot against the tree and waited. The entire ordeal made Frodo very nervous and set him on edge for the remainder of the day.

Aragorn promptly had her hands rebound when their trek continued, but she never fought it. But she performed another disappearing act the following morning and was found conducting the same experimental process on Pippin. She repeated this process the following two mornings on Merry and Sam, who had learned to sit still until she finished.

Another unusual, noteworthy event was that, if he woke before she advanced, the hobbit's sword of choice would vanish. On Merry's day, it was discovered that she snitched that particular hobbit's weapon and handled it, feeling the weight and balance and whatnot. It was then returned before they moved on, often without the owner's knowledge of it ever having left.

A few men also would wake to find themselves being watched. They were usually men with some form of physical oddity, such as a missing eye or and an underdeveloped hand. Their sessions were not nearly so lengthy, with only the deformity being held under view. Their reactions varied, with younger men often startled and middle-aged irked, while some of the older fellows were actually rather amused at the attention they received. Plenty of men thought the entire business was bizarre. They would wake each other earlier than usual, and hold bets to see who would be studied next. This only encouraged her to hold her inspections during all breaks, instead of during the early morning hours.

Aragorn even found himself involved in her observations. His was a general inspection, and her main interest seemed to reside in his sword. She turned it over in her hand, peering at the length and the width and comparing to other such weapons.

Legolas did not like being studied; this much was obvious. When his moment came, he sat on his feet, gripping the knees of his leggings with white knuckles. When she felt his ears, he closed his eyes and miserably waited for the uncomfortable procedure to end.

Gandalf and his staff were studied without much ado, but what he lacked in vigor, Gimli made up for with his own. The dwarf was not at all pleased about having her study him. But when she maneuvered his axe, he threw such as a fuss as few had ever known. He had immediately tried to take it back, but she used it to hook the lower limb of a tree, hoist herself up, and climb up until she was beyond anyone's reach. This succeeded in only aggravating him further. He hopped up and down furiously, yelling such things as, "Bring back me axe, yah wee fox woman!" She paused momentarily to look down at him, but soon brought her attention back to what she was doing. Infuriated, Gimli began swearing so rudely in dwarfish that it caused Gandalf's, Legolas's, and Aragorn's heads to swivel. It also earned her the alias "the fox woman."

These experiments soon ceased, and the mob fell back into step. The heat had wavered and eventually tapered off. A chill had set in, and people became very quiet as the battles grew numerous and the hiatus between them narrowed. There was often a town that needed aid, and they gave it to the best of their abilities. This resulted in one man getting married to a woman he had never met before, but other than that, the days passed without event. Quite a few of the gathering began to complain to Faramir that they considered the task at hand to be futile, but Aragorn did not let it bother or slow him.

Gimli's words of doubt about bringing "the wee fox woman" began to spread. She was another mouth to feed, though she ate little, and in combat, she was shielded and someone was stationed to watch her, with a chain linking her bonds to her guard.

One day, everyone was unusually silent. They passed slowly by a foothill, beneath the trees' branches. She was on her horse, a stone-still as ever. She was still staring straight ahead. But no one noticed when her left ear turned toward the mountain. She turned her head and looked upward, pale eyes searching the cliffs. She looked down to her right, at the person nearest her and brought her foot back.

Legolas had been plodding along and thought he heard something. He was about to dismiss it when his head flew forward and he yelped as a sharp pain spread throughout his skull. It started at the base, from where she had given him a swift kick. Everyone gaped. Legolas grasped the base of his head and turned around, looking venomous, when an arrow embedded itself in the tree in front of him. More arrows followed, showering them. They quickly dove for cover as orcs poured out of the crevices.

What followed could not really be described, mostly because battle is such an out-of-body experience. All around is chaos and everything is running, cutting, dodging. A memory that stood out amidst it all was that at some point during the fight, the girl's guard was slain. After untying her hands, she coiled up the chain and began twirling it around her head, letting it out more with every swing. Several orcs were stopped in their tracks when the chain whizzed by their face or caught them around the neck.

When the damage was done and the enemy slain, a look around at the bloodstained grass and mangled bodies made them wish more fervently then ever for their families, their own beds, and the minute comforts presented to them everyday that go unappreciated.

The total count was thirty-two orcs and three men dead, with six more in need of medical aid. Legolas ran about collecting his arrows while Gimli pronounced his victory over the elf. The girl was stepping lightly over carcasses in search of a dagger she had used at some point and anything else of practical worth. She crouched over an orc's chest and tugged until her knife came out of his shoulder. She climbed down and wiped off the blood, but paused when it was almost inside her cloak.

She paused for too long.

She was grabbed around the throat by the previously impaled orc and hoisted into the air, her feet dangling helplessly two feet above the ground. No one was sure what to do about it; she would not be able to sneak up and strangle this one. "This happens a lot when she's around," Merry thought aloud. Legolas quickly fired an arrow. The orc noticed and held her in front of him. The arrow landed dead-center in the middle of her chest.

Everyone's eyes widened as the orc laughed, holding her by the nape of her cloak and holding her out to them. "Missed, eh?" he asked tauntingly. She hung limp in his grasp. …For a moment.

She lifted her hand, and the orc turned her around in time to see her pulling out the offending arrow. She kicked him in the face, and he dropped her, clutching the area begin his chin. She fell to the ground, but landed on her feet and jumped, landing on his chest. She dug into his jugular vein with her teeth, looking vicious and feral and commenced biting and tearing at his neck, roughly gnawing at different places of his throat and shaking her head with every new mouthful. He tried to pull her off, but she was on tight, and he fell to his knees. She didn't stop when his esophagus was ripped out, but continued more wildly than before, the blood pouring down profusely. When the orc really died, no one was sure, but she continued biting and they continued staring, unable to tear their eyes away from the gruesome scene.

She finally settled, but kept growling softly in her throat. Gandalf approached her cautiously, but she saw him and snarled, causing him to back away gingerly. Aragorn motioned for everyone to pile up the carcasses until there were none left. The thought of her mouth, chin, and teeth smeared with blood was a memory that did not leave anyone's mind.

An hour later, after the orcs were on fire and night had come, people sat around the campfire, discussing the day's events. They spoke of their companions, how many they had killed, etc. No talked about what she had done, but it lingered in their minds. She came back after dinner had been served with a small smear of dried blood still on her lips. No one looked at her. She made a beeline for Legolas and stopped in front of him. He glanced up to see her holding out the arrow he had fired. He accepted it and murmured his thanks. She sat down next to a tree, as always and received the light meal that was offered her. The thought that she had already eaten drifted through everyone's mind.

After supper, a fair share of pipes were brought out and lit, using anyone's favored brand of pipe weed. A few jokes were exchanged. A shy-looking young man sitting next to her looked at the extra pipe he had brought along and offered it to her. The crowd kept one eye on her to see what she would do. She looked at the pipe as though she had never seen one before and accepted it, looking at it curiously. The young man also offered her some of his own weed, puffing his pipe to indicate its use. She politely refused it and turned her attention back to the pipe, inspecting it from all angles.

After she had looked it over, under, and through, she took her dagger and used it to saw off the cupped end. The men watched with interest. She carefully carved at the pipe until there were several holes down the middle and one on the bottom. She made a small slit on the underside and into wedged a section of the cup. She blew into the mouthpiece and a high note was emitted. She had made a flute.

Work on this makeshift musical instrument continued while small talk was exchanged and people prepared for sleep. When Aragorn stood, he did not retie her. He lay down on his own nap kit; she would travel freely from now on. When she decided to, she stopped her work and climbed into a tree to sleep. A handful of men did not sleep well that evening.


	15. What is her name, anyway?

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

To cute little Legolas: See other story (The Aftermath aka The Chapter Loet Forgot).

Frodo awoke the following morning with two questions troubling his and everyone else's mind: How and why? How did she manage to survive getting shot in the heart with an arrow, and why did she attack the orc the way she did? He had pondered it the night before, to no avail. One question, he might know how to answer.

He looked around for her before seeing her in the tree and waited patiently for her to come down. When she climbed down from her perch, he stood in front of her. He didn't bother hiding that his sword Sting was unsheathed. He raised it in front of him, brought it down so that it pointed at her, and paused to see if she would react. She watched him as carefully as he watched her. He slowly pushed the blade through the chest, through layers of cloaks until its progress ceased and she had to place one foot behind the other to keep from stumbling back. Frodo withdrew Sting and raised his hand to her neckline, pulling it to the side. "Thought so," he muttered.

Aragorn was walking toward her when he saw someone about eighteen inches shorter than her standing before her. It was Frodo, looking at something on her shoulder. "Frodo," he called. "What are you doing?" "Answering one of questions swimming around in your head," the hobbit answered. Lifting one eyebrow, the king asked, "And which question is that?" "'How did she survive?'"

Frodo gestured toward her shoulder and answered with one word, "Mithril." Aragorn bent over to examine her and discovered the she was indeed wearing a shirt of mithril, not unlike Frodo's. "There's the answer," he said as Aragorn fingered the metallic material. He turned to face Frodo. "How did you know?" The hobbit shrugged. "Personal experience would cause me to bear testimony of its durability."

Aragorn straightened himself up in time to see Faramir join the group. "Good news," said the king. "We know why she's still alive." He gave Faramir the opportunity to see the glittering garment. When released, she left in the general direction of the orc pile, which was some hundred feet off, still smoldering from the previous evening. She disappeared around the edge, but the three males failed to notice, as they were talking about something else.

"Why did she attack him like that?" Frodo asked. "Besides the fact that he held her up by her neck and let Legolas shoot her in the heart, that is." "As if that's not incentive enough. Where's Pip?" The trio turned to see Merry passing by. He appeared preoccupied and was consistently peering around, standing on his toes and rushing about in short spurts while stepping cautiously over what few men were still sleeping. He explained that when he had woken, the best friend has vanished and was nowhere near the food. It was this last detail that had Merry the most concerned.

Elsewhere, Legolas was sitting with his back to a tree, staring at the arrow he had been given the night before, no doubt wondering why it had failed. There was nothing visibly wrong with it, except that the tip was slightly bent. He had aimed correctly, albeit belatedly, so she should have died. Of course, it wasn't his _wish_ to kill her; far from it, in fact. He was still rather sore, both figuratively and literally, about being kicked in the back of the head, but that was no reason to want her dead. His thoughts were interrupted when Merry came by, asking if Legolas had seen Pippin. The preoccupied elf muttered that Pippin had wandered by some minutes ago and that he was probably somewhere around Gimli.

Both halfling and dwarf were found a few minutes later, next the orc pile. The girl was there also. Pippin explained that she must have overheard him when he said his sword was missing because he found her scouring through the pile, emerging moments later with his hobbit-sized coustille. He had thanked her happily and joined Merry, who excitedly told him about a small crowd that had gathered to watch some swordplay. They agreed to join them, as soon as they had gathered their fill of first breakfast.

A handful of men in their late thirties to early forties were showing some of the younger men the finer points of swordplay, demonstrating different techniques and giving advice. The audience enjoyed the show, congratulating the novices when they did well and calling out advice when they thought it was needed. The shy looking young man from the previous night, called Gugwyn, spotted the girl as she pushed her way forward, standing at the inner edge of the ring, watching with interest. He had just succeeded in dropping his own sword and losing the spar. He stood next to her, watching another dueling pair. The older of the two, Gwullyn, congratulated his younger opponent on his performance while the mob roared with approval. Gugwyn clapped politely, then asked, "Do you fence at all?" The girl turned to stare at him blankly. "Yes," Gwullyn's voice called out. The din abated to a degree. He was looking at her. "Do you fence?" An excited murmur ran through the crowd. Her left brow twitched as though it had been prepared to rise of its own accord and had been beaten back. When no other response was received, Gwullyn asked, "Do you know how to handle a sword, or would you like to be taught? Can anyone lend her sword?"

Gugwyn offered her his own sword. She took it by the hilt and was promptly jerked downward, unable to hold it up. The crowd laughed when they realized it was too heavy for her to lift, but their mirth quieted when she unsheathed her own weapon. Hers was a curious-looking sword, an oddity to be sure. It was made of one, unbroken chunk of metal. It was a one-edged blade and there was no hilt; in its place, the blade grew thicker and curved under. A hole resided in the middle of the thicker end, and a length of leather was wrapped securely around one edge. A series of minute Sandarin runes along the "hilt" provided evidence of its light weight. The entire structure ensured simplicity, yet effectiveness. (A/N: If you have no idea what I'm talking about, go the website for Museum Replicas Limited and type in "dussack.")

Gwullyn smiled and both began to fence. It appeared as though she did possess a certain amount of skill, though she seemed out of habit. Gwullyn somehow managed to back her into a corner where she was unable to comfortably swing with her right arm. Everyone agreed that Gwullyn's signature technique was impressive, and they thought that she would soon lose. So it came as a surprise when she switched hands and began to fight almost as well with the left arm.

The fight ended when both competitors had to stop, as each of them had the other's blade pointing in the general direction of a vital organ. They shook hands, and the audience cheered their approval. Gwullyn said, "Perhaps sometime you'll reveal where you learned that." She gave a short, uncommitted nod and left.

She was found sitting on the ground next to Gimli, who sat on a tree stump, sharpening his axe and doing a marvelous job of ignoring the fact that she was gnawing on a bone and looking somewhat wolfish in doing so.

She soon finished with the unusual task and tossed the bone aside. She retrieved her dussack and took out a whet stone. She was in the process of honing the blade when Legolas found his friend and sat down. He said, "I've just spoken with Aragorn; we leave soon. My advice is to finish that up." He received a short grunt in reply.

"I've just been told of your latest escapades," Legolas said, addressing her. "You've certainly gained some popularity among the other men." Upon receiving no reply, he murmured under his breath, "Or infamy." She reached over, jerked one of the elf's long blonde hairs taut, and used it to test her swords edge. It sliced through with ease.

She stayed away from Legolas for the remainder of the day, a decision he failed to oppose. She also avoided some of the crew who still didn't approve of or trust her. As a direct result, she spent most of her time walking next to Gimli, whom she seemed to prefer above the others.

During midday, they stopped by a wide, deep stream and rested in the shade of the trees. In the noontime sun, it was oppressively hot. For some reason, the insects that normally tormented them had abandoned them to a horsefly that spent its time buzzing around and biting nearly everyone. The latter problem was more easily remedied than that of the heat. And many of them were beginning to tire of eating the same food everyday when they were in the wilderness and food abounded. More than anyone, this bothered Sam, who stared at the water, thinking aloud, "If there were fish in there, I'd cook them. But it's so hot; they're probably all at the bottom of the stream by now."

The girl stared at him pensively for a few moments, then got up, and walked over to the water's edge. She sat on a large boulder that formed a small cliff over where the water was deep. Leaning over, she did a most curious thing; taking a deep breath, she shoved her head under the water and looked around as though searching for something, surfacing moments later. Acting as though this was completely normal, she climbed up into one of the trees and disappeared in the thick branches. There was the sound of rustling, a pause, and then she promptly dived headfirst out of the tree and into the water. Pushing her feet heard against the water, she swam towards the waterbed.

A few watched the surface for some sign of life below. Sam himself was sitting on the small rock cliff, leaning over the edge, when he saw something moving towards the surface. It moving very quickly and growing larger by the second. Mere seconds after Sam realized it was headed straight for him, the girl surfaced from the water, practically throwing herself onto the cliff. Hunched over on her knees and dripping more water than a drowned cat, she dropped at his feet the large fish he hadn't failed to notice was in her mouth. She turned on one hand and immediately threw herself back into the water. The process was repeated twice more, and the group spent the day eating Sam's baked bass.

The girl ate in the canopy of the tree while waiting for her wet jerkin and trousers to dry. She seemed considerably smaller without all her cloaks, and with her clothes sticking to her. It made sense that she should doff the cloaks, lest they weigh her down in the water. But to put them on again made no sense to anyone. One man suggested that it was actually a very clever idea- that the layers would keep the cool in and the hot out- but few said the hypothesis had merit.

They met up with another party at the end of the day, and the two groups spent the evening together. The following day brought yet another battle to fight and more orcs to kill. Thankfully there were no fatalities following this particular brawl, but few escaped without injury. The medic more than had his work cut out for him. Had he not been concerned for the overall morale of the soldiers, he would have openly fretted about the state of both his supplies and their injuries.

The girl helped out some, trying to ignore the nasty-looking gash that dripped blood into her eye while she dug a rock out of someone's cheek. She also spread an absolutely horrid-smelling oil over the wound and began to sew it up. While not an expert stitch job, it would hold until later. She administered the oil with the awful stench to a fair few others with the most ghastly wounds, and it numbed the pain to a certain extent. One man explained to the others that no, it was not some horrid poison that could kill them, it was oil of cloves and his wife had spread it over their infants' mouths when the new teeth came in, so it was perfectly safe.

They traveled for most of the following day, stopping only momentarily for a short lunch. During that time, she stared in quiet fascination as Merry and Pippin each wolfed down his own body weight in food. When she tired of this, she wandered off and investigated the surroundings, content to collect various articles of the differing foliage. Aragorn nearly had to tear her away from this sport. Judging from what she had gathered, he came to the conclusion that she was most likely restocking whatever supplies she had depleted in her small medical unit.

"Unbelievable," Faramir could be heard muttering. "First she was an enemy in a cell; now she's treating the wounded. She's moved up faster than a bird on the wing, and we don't even know her name!"


	16. The fireflies

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

Thanks to Jennifer for her review. I'm liking the way it's all turning out too.

P.S. I'm very sorry it took so long to get this chapter up. The zip disc fried itself and I had to rewrite the whole chapter and a twenty-four page script too. _Damn it._

WARNING: This chapter contains a bit of torture between > and >>. If you want to skip it, feel free. You have been warned.

"Nock!" Twelve men nocked their arrows onto the strings of their bows. "Aim!" A dozen arms were pointed at the target. "Pull!" The arrows were pulled back. "Release!" A dozen arrows flew through the air and landed almost everywhere except the target. Legolas winced as the men retrieved their arrows. "It's alright, Gugwyn. You did fine. Good job, Thomas." Gimli stood next the elf and asked, "How's it going?" "This is really bad," the elf muttered without moving his lips. "Phillips!" the elf barked. "Do NOT draw fire the bow!"

Frodo had just finished his third serving of lunch when he noticed that Sam was still working on his second. "Sam," he said. "What's wrong?" Sighing, he said, "I was just thinking about Elanor and Rosie. I miss them. I miss the way Elanor used to giggle when I held her. I miss Rosie's cooking too. Like her apple cake. Did you ever meet who made better apple cake?" Frodo shook his head. "I miss Bagend, and the way it always smelled of parchment and pipe weed." Merry added, "I miss the ale fro the Green Dragon and the cute barmaid that used to serve it to me." Pippin said, "I miss meeting Diamond when she snuck out after finishing her chores. I almost miss the way her father used to yell at me." He thought a minute, frowned, and said, "I don't miss his impeccable sense of aim, though."

The girl had climbed as far as she could up a tree and stood staring at the horizon. Aragorn did the same on the ground. The sky was blue, but thick, gray clouds were gathering in the east. She looked down at him and pointed into the distance. "I know," he said. "There's a storm coming." A novice soldier came up to him and asked, "How do you know there's a storm coming, sir?" Aragorn nodded towards the tree, saying, "The same way she knows. The anvil on that cloud is far too large to be anything but a storm. You'll notice that between the clouds and the trees, it's too gray to tell where the sky ends and the land begins; all of that is rain. You'll also notice that the air smells cleaner. The rain hitting the ground pushes all the fresh air forward. And it's in the east; we're in the west, and weather always moves west. Judging from how far it is, it should reach us by nightfall."

Not surprisingly, Aragorn's prediction was accurate. The first few heavy drops had just begun to fall when the troop took shelter under the dense canopy of a forest. The sky darkened quickly while fires were built. After a light supper, people settled around the fire, feeling strangely subdued. Aragorn was sitting with his back against a tree when he glanced over at the girl. "How is your flute coming?" he asked drowsily. She glanced in his direction and extracted the instrument for him to see. "Hmm… Will you play us a tune?" She thought a minute and began to play. The song was low and calming. The combination of slow music, cold air, darkness, and the late hour soon lulled everyone to sleep. The last man to fall asleep would not remember in the morning what he saw. He had nearly drifted to sleep and was watching the fire when the playing stopped. The girl stared at the fire and looked melancholic, almost sad. She pocketed her flute and threw dirt over the fires, extinguishing them until the place was bathed in blue light. The man listened to the rain a moment longer, then closed his eyes and sleep overtook him.

The next morning, the fog was thick, and there was a chill in the air that made the air on one's arms stand up. Sitting up and stretching, Frodo smacked his lips. "Have a good sleep?" Sam asked him. "It was a very good sleep," Frodo said. "Pity it had to end. Gandalf, why is that?" he asked. "Why is what?" the wizard groggily replied. "Why does a good sleep have to end?" the hobbit repeated. Gandalf answered, "So that a good day can begin." Gimli interrupted, "I just hop there's a good breakfast to compensate for the loss of a good sleep."

Aragorn later made the announcement that because there were so few orcs left, the next battle would probably be the last before they went to Mordor to finish them off entirely. The news made the men very pleased. Unfortunately, one man was so pleased that he turned around too quickly and the hilt of his sword smacked Frodo square in the nose. His eyes crossed and he fell back. "Ouch…"

Clutching a rag to his profusely-bleeding nose, Frodo rushed towards the stream with Sam behind him. The girl was there, filling a small canteen and doing a marvelous job of ignoring them. Sam wet the rag and handed it back to his best friend, asking "How does your nose feel?" "Lige id nod a node ad all," he replied.

"In fad, id feeled lige id flad or thumping. Ow! Whad?" After they had failed to notice that she was trying to get their attention, she had taken a pebble from the stream and chucked it at Frodo's head. She put one finger to her lips and pointed across the stream. Some thirty yards away, a lone orc was sitting on a tree stump, gorging himself on a dead badger. Frodo and Sam looked at each with the same thing in their expressions: "There is something very not right here." Both got up and ran to tell Aragorn while the girl began to creep forward. When they arrived back at the scene, they found the orc lying on the ground with a thick bruise on his forehead that was beginning to swell. The girl sat on the tree stump, gingerly licking a wound on her hand. A section of her hair was shiny and stuck together, and one of the yellow patches was steadily turning orange. A dagger lay on the ground with smeared drops of black blood on the hilt.

The orc was bound and, as soon as he awoke, was questioned. He flatly refused to answer with anything other than furious silence, and a few slaps or punches didn't help his surly nature. At one point, Faramir turned to the girl and said irately, "You seem to be full of surprises, so feel free to assist at any time!" Having vented some of his frustration, he commenced with the inquisition. She had been sitting on the ground while a doctor inspected her head wound, and she looked as though she doubted she could do anything useful, but got up just the same. Paying no heed to the men around her, she seated herself in front of the orc and stared intently into his eyes. After a minute, she began to squint, then fidget. She soon looked downward, cradling her head in her hands while the doctor nursed the wound.

It was after fifteen minutes or so before two men, one burly and the other lean, came forward with a suggestion that, while highly unpleasant, did sound as though it would accomplish their objective. It was with great reluctance that Aragorn agreed at all.

>

The orc's wrists were tied behind his back while the other end of the rope was tossed over a thick tree branch. While hoisting the orc up, the pair explained that by dropping the orc, but not to the ground, it would cause a severe amount of pain. It would also dislocate every joint in the orc's arms, and more if they tied weights to his feet.

While the strongman staffed the rope, the sinewy man questioned the orc. Occasionally, the sickening crack of shoulders or elbows popping would sound, and several men had to turn away and cover their ears, repulsed by what was happening. Only Gandalf noticed that girl did not seem at all ill at ease or disturbed in the slightest manner. In fact, she surveyed the situation with the attitude of one who has lost interest and is almost bored.

>>

Needless to say, it didn't take nearly as long as before to extract information. They learned that because of the great number of orcs that had been killed, the remaining groups, a total of six score, had joined together and were prepared to fight until they breathed their last. They were prepared to leave tomorrow and were not so very far away, but the specific location could not be discovered. The muscular one tied off the cable with the orc still in the air while his partner discussed what to do about that missing detail. They didn't notice when the orc began to swing himself back and forth. A thick stabbing sound was heard. They turned. The orc had impaled himself on a protruding tree branch. The body was burned, and the smell of burnt flesh filled the air. A few men didn't feel very hungry that night.

Anxious to cover more ground before nightfall, Aragorn had the troops march another two or three miles before coming to a halt. The men began to settle their things down for the night. One man approached the girl while she sat on the ground, staring above her. "Shift yourself, lass," the man said. "You're not the going to sleep on the ground, you never do. Come on, now. What the blazes are you staring at?" She pointed above her head, and the man followed her gaze. A tiny yellow-green light was floating above their heads, slowly descending on them. It landed on one of the girl's ears. The ear flicked, and the insect flew off again.

A few feet away, Merry saw Pippin looking at a tree knot. "What is it?" he asked. Pippin put his hand on the knot and pulled it away to show Merry what he had. Merry smiled. "It's a lightning bug." "And look," Pippin said. "There's plenty more." It was certainly true. People everywhere were beginning to notice the small insects on the branches and in the trees. Several landed on Legolas's blonde hair and lit up, illuminating his head. The same thing happened in Gandalf's beard, giving the impression that a tiny village resided in his white whiskers.

The fireflies still held everyone's attention when it was realized that the girl had disappeared. A small party went to go look for her. They returned some minutes later, saying they had just seen something that was not to be missed. Everyone followed them through thick underbrush until they came out in a clearing and marveled at what they saw. Hundreds, literally thousands of fireflies swarmed over a tall tree. When they all lit up, the tree glowed. It was hardly enough light to read by, but it was fantastic all the same.

Legolas awoke with a start in the middle of the night. He lay awake for a moment and tried to go back to sleep, but it didn't work. He sat up and looked around, then noticed that someone was missing. Hearing something up the hill, he stood up stiffly and plodded up to the crest. He found her sitting on a small cliff that looked out over a valley. He crouched down next to her and took in the panorama. The fireflies from earlier that evening teemed throughout the dell, looking like tiny dancing stars. Forgetting his own animistic views of her, Legolas smiled; the sight was beautiful.

He watched the lightning bugs for some minutes before looking at her. She turned and peered at him as well. He rubbed the back of his neck to show he still remembered that she had kicked him. 'I don't understand you,' he thought to himself. 'I don't understand a lot of women, of any race, but you find particularly enigmatic. You can't seem to stop alternating between friend and foe, and I don't know what to make of it.'

He thought about saying that. But he didn't. Instead he asked, "And what brings you here at such an hour? The fireflies alone?" She peered into the distance and formed the lower half of a square with her hands. Legolas leaned over and put his head near hers so he could properly see through the frame she had made. He saw what she and few humans could see. His eyes widened, and he rushed down the hill.

Leaning over Aragorn, the elf gave his arm a shake. "Aragorn. Aragorn, wake up." Groaning, he rolled over and asked, "What?" "Aragorn, I've found them." Still half asleep, he mumbled, "You've found who?" "The orcs." Very little had ever caused Aragorn to forget his sleep so quickly.

He was shortly at the apex of the hill, vainly squinting in the direction of Legolas's gaze. "How far away are they?" He and the girl both looked at the elf and waited for a response. "Hmm… I can't say of a certainty, but I doubt that it would take long for us to reach them if we are moving and they are not." "Why in the name of all that is decent are we awake?" Gandalf came up behind them with Faramir in tow. Aragorn said, "Legolas and… whomever found where the orcs are camped out, and we're going to go kill them."

To say that most the men did not appreciate being woken up at that time of night and told they would have to march to a nocturnal battle would be an understatement. In fact, several people were reprimanded when the situation was explained to them and they said they would rather wait until morning to care. It could strongly be suspected that the only incentive they had to staying fully awake, besides the prospect of dying, was that this was one of the last confrontations.

They hiked for roughly half an hour before hiding out in a group of trees near the orcs. Legolas could see no watchmen, but there was undoubtedly one somewhere. This said, the girl slunk away and returned perhaps ten minutes later with an orc's head. "The watchman, I assume?" Aragorn asked. She nodded while tossing the head to one side. He turned to Faramir and asked, "Is everyone ready?" "Yes sir." "Good."

"Stop worrying about it." Aragorn looked at Faramir in surprise. "Stop worrying about what?" Faramir leaned in and whispered in even lower tones. "I know you're agitated and that you think you will us lead to failure. But if everything I've been told about you is true, and if I can rely on my own experience, then I can say with all honesty that I believe you will bring us victory." Unsure of what to say, Aragorn smiled appreciatively. "Thank you," he said. "I can think of no finer man to help lead them into battle."

Aragorn did not let Faramir down; the following combat was over sooner than anyone realized, and despite the unfavorable odds, the outcome was excellent. The decision to strike while the iron was hot paid off; the orcs were more exhausted and unprepared than the men had been! No one escaped without injury, but the casualties were considerably fewer than that of the orcs, particularly when one considered that the orcs outnumbered them three to one.

Faramir was taking the death toll from one of his inferior officers when a throaty, strangling noise came from his left. He turned and saw a dying orc laying its back, a sword blade sticking out of the right side of his chest. It lifted its arm and pointed his finger accusingly. "You!" the orc growled. Faramir looked to see that he was pointing at the girl. She regarded the orc impassively as he glared at her and began to speak in orcish, using threatening tones and shouting. He started screaming something repeatedly. Faramir, eyes wide and teeth set, used his blade to kill the orc and looked at her with confusion. "What did he say?" the officer asked him. "I didn't recognize all of it," Faramir replied. "But he said that he remembered her from before the fall of Sauron. He insulted her and said he remembered what she did." "What did she do?" "…I don't know." She left them before they had the chance to ask.

Aragorn decided to meet back with the other men he had sent out the weeks before and march on to Mordor. Gandalf agreed that it would be a good idea. Faramir took the opportunity to tell Aragorn and Gandalf what had happened, and both seemed surprised. "Amazing," Gandalf said. "That anyone from that aspect of her past should still be alive." "Well, he's not alive anymore."

That night, while everyone else slept, she sat by herself and pondered. Faramir had said he didn't know what she had done. Well, she knew perfectly well what had bothered her old comrade, and she probably couldn't have cared less what had happened. But hearing the question aloud must have brought back the memories associated with them. The thoughts must have been on her mind before she went to sleep. The reason it must have been so is because of the dream everyone had that night. They would remember some parts better than others; but for all, whatever they remembered, the vision would be the same.


	17. Her Story: Life in Mordor

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

**IMPORTANT NOTE**: Some of the scenes in this chapter may be unsettling to read. If you find them disturbing, just go to the next paragraph. Also, if you're the kind that listens whenever an author recommends a song for a scene, you might to get Beethoven out now.

The foremost memories were more firsthand. They were fast and uncertain. You were underwater, surfacing and submerging and hearing yourself gasp for breath. Looking towards the sky and moving very fast while the sun poured blindingly through the trees into your eyes. A tall, scruffy-looking man who looked mean brought his sword down over you and your own small, white hands held the sword that barely blocked it from your face. You were in the back of a covered cart, watching the light that came through the back flaps into the darkness. So many blurs, so much ambiguity. Then everything comes to a halt, and the world is black.

The following memories are considerably more clear. You feel as though you are there, watching it happen, and no one else knows. It is when the dream feels almost real.

A man of no great height marched purposefully up the path, led by two orcs and followed by a thin, cloaked figure. They four walked up the narrow stairwell to a high room where Sauron, the Dark Lord himself, was looking over maps and attack plans. A thick gold ring was on his finger. He did not pay his visitor any heed for some time, and the caller had begun to shift from side to side and tap his fingers before he was given any attention.

"What do you want, Bradwr?" Looking possibly more smug than was wise, Bradwr answered, "I have something you may find of value, and I've come to strike a deal with you." When Sauron didn't respond, the man continued. "I believe you remember my mentor, Fatir. He foolishly denied you his allegiance and the use of his craft. I think my first offering will satisfy you." He snapped his fingers and the hooded person untied a bag. Opening the bag, they produced the severed head of an old man, the face twisted in surprise. "As you can see," Bradwr continued, "I do not share Fatir's opinions. Once I learned all I could from him, I had exercised that power; what I show you now is the result."

He strode over and took the hood off his cohort. The girl was revealed. She had more fat on her face, her hair looked shorter, and she appeared to be a few inches shorter, but there was no mistaking her flat, splotched locks or dead stare. "Here is the proof that the student has surpassed the master." Bradwr sounded very confident.

Sauron stared at the girl, who stared ominously back. "…What is this?" he said angrily. Bradwr's self-satisfied look wavered. "She is what Fatir could never accomplish. She is the first to survive the process, designed to be everything and anything you want her to be. She-" Sauron angrily grabbed the man by his collar and shook him. "Are you trying to con me, you maggot! What use do I have for another shiftless sluggard!"

For the first time, Bradwr's arrogant manner disappeared. He cowered and held up his hands in pitiful self defense. "Please, sir," he pleaded. "Just let me prove her worth to you." Sauron gave him a menacing stare, but lowered him slowly back onto his feet.

Thoroughly shaken but still resolved, Bradwr spoke. "One of the most important qualities bred into her is the capacity to learn quickly and surely. She is barely two months old as it is, but I think you'll find that she can handle a sword quite well, and she improves with every practice. Observe." He unsheathed his sword but Sauron waved his hand impatiently. "Later. Get on with it."

Gulping, Bradwr continued. "Another trait designed into her is compliancy; she is already as land-based as you or I, but she can also hold her own in the air or in the water. She has better underwater vision than any being that doesn't live in a river, and she's been taught to hold her breath for a remarkable period of time. Also, uh… I'll just show you." Turning towards her, he ordered her doff her single cloak. She obeyed, and in doing so, revealed something quite remarkable; a set of large, leathery wings protruded from a hole in the back of her jerkin. Bradwr spread them out until they were six feet long and three feet wide on either side. "Despite how light she is, her wingspan is not enough to elevate her, but the mere fact that they exist on such an imperfect version promises great things for the next." This last bit was added quickly when Bradwr noticed how irritated Sauron looked.

"As you can see, she looks human enough, but these ears and eyes function almost as well as those of an elf. And the advantage she has over elves is that while their ears are stationary, hers are as mobile as a fox's.

"And possibly her most important feature is her sense of loyalty. She will obey one and one alone. Once she recognizes an individual as her master, she will not stray until that master passes her on to another." Sauron snorted disgustedly. "You killed your mentor the moment you had no use for him, and yet you speak of loyalty as though you value it." Taken aback, Bradwr retorted, "If you don't believe it, allow me to demonstrate for just how obedient she can be."

Rather than wait for a response, he turned and signaled to two orcs who stood nearby. While they approached, he muttered to her, "Don't make a move without my word." Then he motioned for them to attack her. They needed no encouragement to do so. While they fell on her with kicks and punches, she doubled over and fell, but made no move to defend herself. The beating went on for two minutes without slowing before Bradwr said in a loud voice, "Now." The orc who had been about to kick her in the jaw lost his balance when she rolled out of the way and lost his life when she pulled a dirk from her belt and cut his throat. She turned and crouched, hands raised and fingers curled, prepared to spring should the other decide to continue. She was bruised up and there was a gash on her cheek, but she was no worse for the wear.

Bradwr waved the surviving orc away and showed his approval with slow, controlled claps as he turned to see if Sauron's manner if improved at all. He was relieved to find that it had. The Dark Lord had begun with his whole weight on one hand and leaning against the table with an irate look on his face. He was now standing erect with his arms crossed, stroking his chin. He looked as though he was pondering what he had just seen.

"And her faults?"

Surprised by this question, Bradwr answered, "Her hearing is terrific, but she can't speak. And she can't write, but she reads anything put in front of her." Sauron growled, "Something that _matters_, you moronic dolt." A muscle in Bradwr's cheek twitched. "Her skills with a bow are limited, and I've never bothered to name her, so you'll have to think of one yourself. She's not as strong as a male, but she can be replaced when I make a man or her strength can grow." "Is that everything?" "It's as I said, sir; she's designed to be ideal."

Sauron studied her again and said, "Follow me. Both of you." He walked away without waiting for either of them, and Bradwr motioned for her to follow him. They walked down a steep flight of stairs to what looked like the remains of a gutted room where chunks of the walls were missing and orcs manned sinister-looking machines. Sauron said something in orcish to one of his minions, and a menacing grin crept over the orc's face as he rushed off. Moments later, something caused such a disturbance that the other orcs became distracted from their prior activities. They began to jeer and cackle as an elf was dragged forward and thrown on his hands and knees.

"Anyone with a hand and use of their brain can fight," Sauron said. "But can she watch?" While he spoke, the orcs poured large quantities of a clear liquid over the elf, who was stared at the ground, his elbows trembling. He looked very worried. The din fell to a hush as one orc brought forth a flaming torch. Now shivering almost violently, the elf raised his head slightly and looked at her with frightened eyes. The orc dropped the torch into the puddle where the elf was kneeling.

Almost instantly, the young elf was completely engulfed in flames. He writhed in agony, and his screams were lost in the roar of the crowd. Sauron smirked to himself and turned to see that while Bradwr had looked away, the girl watched without even wincing, taking in the horrific sight with no hint of compassion. It seemed like a long time before the elf eventually lay still. Saurons spoke in orcish to a handful of orcs, who doused the corpse and dragged it away.

Turning to Bradwr, he said, "She seems to be made of stronger stuff than you. Come with me." No longer looking as though he was not about to be violently sick, Bradwr grinned in a pleased manner. "I thought you'd appreciate what she could offer." She turned to follow them, but Bradwr held up his hand for her to stay. "You stay here for now," he said. "Familiarize yourself." She watched Sauron walk away while Bradwr said to him, "You know, she also knows a great deal about human anatomy, making her a more effective killer!"

Glancing around, it was obvious that everyone had lost interest in her. The orcs paid her no heed and resumed their activities. She wandered around for quite a while, observing her surroundings, until she rounded a corner and came to a deserted area where the elf's carcass had been abandoned. She walked over to it, flipped it over with her foot, and knelt next to it. It looked as though his clothes had melted onto him. The lips were mostly gone, revealing burnt teeth. The once long, blonde hair had disappeared entirely, and the still smoking flesh was black and crisp. She cupped one side of his face and turned it towards her, surveying him with an almost blank face. Her eyebrows pulled down slightly on the outside.

"Hey!" She turned to see an orc standing nearby. "Sauron and your 'keeper' want you. Get going." She stood and walked in the direction he was pointing. She eventually found them standing next to a pen with several bloodied carcasses laying the background. Bradwr waved her over and pointed into the pen. "If you look closely, you'll see a large animal in there." Indeed, lying on the ground, gnawing hungrily on one of the bodies, was a gigantic creature with two inch teeth, unsightly, mottled fur, and what looked like the shrunken head of a bear. It resembled an exceedingly ugly and incredibly huge hyena.

"That," Bradwr said, pointing to it, "is called a warg. They are very fast and very strong, but no one's sure if they can be used as beasts of war. Get in there and see what you make of it." She looked at him, face still blank, but eyes peering out from beneath brows and lashes. It was entirely likely that she was evaluating his level of sanity, but she laid her cloak over the fence, opened the gate and walked inside anyway, wings dragging uselessly behind her.

Once inside, the beast immediately took notice of her and began to growl. She hunched her shoulders and lowered her head, but continued her slow advance. The warg stood up on its haunches and snarled. She snarled as well, and her eyes were wide as she began turning to one side as she walked, allowing both of them to start circling each other. Her wings rose up closer to her body while the warg raised its hackles. Their lips were curled and their canines exposed.

The warg swiped at her and her hair almost stood up. She dodged and crouched, one hand extended with her fingers curled. They both hissed and she swiped at him as well. They circled each other for a moment and the warg charged her. The warg was considerably faster and much larger, but its size made it seem clumsy, and she was much more nimble. When it lunged at her, she jumped in the air and, unfortunately, landed squarely on the warg's snout. It was clear from her alarmed expression that this had not been her intention. Scurrying like a squirrel, she scrambled up his back and leapt off. Spinning around, she unfolded her wings. When the warg turned, it saw her as being almost three times her real size and was not as quick to attack. They both continued to hiss and growl. The warg dived at her again, so she skirted to one side and leapt onto its back, holding on with white knuckles. While the animal tried to throw her off, she climbed over it like a lizard on a branch. She clung to its neck and underside as the warg jumped and squirmed. Finally the animal threw itself unto the ground, and she narrowly escaped being crushed.

"Enough!" Bradwr was waving his arms and shouting to the orcs for them to pull the creature away. Hearing this, she shinnied up the nearest post, and stayed there, clinging for her life while the warg snapped at her below, until the orcs managed to pull it away. When she slid back down, Bradwr noticed something. Despite the near miss, the beast had rolled over her leg, and she now had a limp. Bradwr glanced to one side to make sure Sauron wasn't looking and angrily hissed beneath his breath, "Stop hobbling like a common drunk!" Immediately, she straightened out her leg and walked normally, though there was a slight tremor in her elbow when she put her weight on her left foot. Sauron turned around, looking very satisfied. "Rather impressive," he said. "I think we can reach an arrangement." Bradwr nodded, obviously quite pleased with himself. "I'm glad you think so."

That night, in a small, grubby little hut that served as both house and work space, Bradwr spoke openly to her of how he had "successfully promoted a cause as lost as you.

"Really," he said, sounding, if possible, more self-centered than before, "To think that the Dark Lord himself took any interest in the idea, even with such an incomplete model like you. I almost didn't think he'd agree. In fact, why wait for his approval? Give me my book, quickly! I'm going to start on making newer, better ones. With any luck, this next one will be a male. But even if it isn't, Sauron will now have even more expendable servicemen at his disposal, and I'll have the most powerful Lord in Middle Earth as my personal watchdog."

She must have had a strange appearance on her face, because when he saw her, he glared and said, "Don't give me that insolent look, you insect. Did you think that someone as deficient as you would be so useful that you couldn't be replaced? Haven't I taught you anything?" he said condescendingly. "You were bred- no, _created_- to be the perfect mercenary: silent, deadly, and dedicated. You should have learned by now that you are an object to be used as Sauron, your master, sees fit. He'll need more than the likes of you to have his perfect army completed." Finished reprimanding her, he took up his book and charms and whatnot and ignored her.

She stared at his back and seemed to go over in her mind what he had told her. She was a replaceable asset, he had said, one of many in Sauron's ever-growing collection. She was Sauron's. Her fealty lay with Sauron, not Bradwr, who planned on making her disposable. She set her face and turned, eyeing the wall. It was covered with shelves, lined with books, herbs, jars of slimy objects, etc. On one side was a coat hook, and on the hook was a thick, leather belt. She pulled up one sleeve and studied the long, dark bruises the belt had left on her upper arm and forearm. She pulled her sleeve into place and removed the belt from its hook.

Quietly, she came behind Bradwr and quickly looped the belt over his neck. He made a strange noise in his throat as she tightened her hold on him. Her grip was strong and his attempts to scratch at his neck were utterly futile. He made hoarse gagging sounds, his face turned purple, his eyes bulged, and his tongue was a sickly shade of maroon. She pulled harder and didn't stop until he stopped struggling.

Not pausing to check if Bradwr was dead, she dropped him unceremoniously. She raided the hut of every useful item and began spilling and smashing every jar that lined the walls. She pulled one of the pages from Bradwr's book, placed it in a glass jar, sealed with a cork and wax, and tucked it into her pocket, then doused the book and Bradwr's body with oil from vials. When she finished, she took one of the pieces of firewood from the hearth and dropped it unto the book. The book went up like a fireball, and by the time she had evacuated the structure, it was ablaze. She watched the building burn to the ground before turning her back on it.

Running like a madwoman through the outskirts of Mordor, she avoided being seen by anyone until she found a spot that looked like it rarely saw the light of day. Rolling a particularly large boulder to one side, she dug a small pit and put the jar from her pocket into the hole. She buried it with lightning speed and carefully rolled the rock back into place, taking care to make it appear as though nothing had ever changed.

The next memory featured her standing before Sauron, who was once again pouring over maps and attack plans. An orc held her arm and waited for his lord to say something. Sauron waved the orc away, and the two studied each other with blank, observant stares. "So," he said. "I'm told that Bradwr is dead, and now you show up at my door. Far from coincidence, I think.

"Bradwr is no real loss; he was an insufferable braggart who loved too much the sound of his own voice. And after having thought it over, I had no intention of agreeing to any deal with him. I have my own army and have no need for another. I had even considered having the two of you killed so he could make no more of… you, I suppose I should call it, to ensure that he wouldn't become a rival." He paused, and for a moment, she looked as though she were biting the inside of her lip.

"However," he continued, "since you are here, and presumably have nowhere else to go, I see no reason why I shouldn't put you to good use." He walked away and she followed. He led her out of the building to a cliff where a flying beast was tethered to the ground with a thick chain. A saddle of some sort and reins were on it. "The good news is that I won't be asking you to wrestle with him. The bad news is that you're going to be the test rider. Get on." She obediently climbed atop the dragon-like creature, and it was taken off its leash.

She clicked her heels against its sides, and the monster crawled to the edge of the cliff and jumped. It soon gained altitude as she pulled up on the reins, mimicking the movements of a horseman. It was surprisingly simple to handle, probably because of the reins, and guiding it became steadily easier. At one point, the animal began turning to the left, almost sending her over the edge, and she found she was pulling on one side. While ignoring the scare this had given her, it also allowed her the opportunity to clearly see the land below. Over any other land, the sight would have been stunning, but a dragon's-eye view of Mordor was hardly something to marvel over for any good reason. The land was a gray, barren wasteland with nothing to offer or to support life. She gathered this in and quickly righted herself.

Once, the beast leapt high into the sky and sailed upward, circling in the air. It flew hundreds of feet into the firmament before coasting through the sky. Still leaning forward from her sudden ascension, she held onto the reins with wide eyes. She suddenly started scanning the ground and slowly let go of the reins. She took the cloak and carefully removed it so that her arm was through the neck hole. She cautiously spread out her wings, and when they had reached their full breadth, they started to gently pull on her back, lifting her upward. She gingerly slid her legs off the creature's back as the she was drawn into a hovering position. The look on her face was one of quiet excitement as she almost floated on the back of a dragon. She shortly pulled herself back in and pushed down on the animal's neck, jerking on one the side of the reins. It dove towards the ground and she was thrown back in her seat. She managed to steer it back to its takeoff point and was congratulated by Sauron on her performance.

What followed was a series of flashbacks that all involved her integration into Sauron's army. She joined the lower ranks of the military and learned everything she needed to know to be a soldier. She improved on her every skill, including stealth, fencing, and surviving on her own, while learning new ones, like how to fence with three people at once and come out alive. She knew how to combat with someone and where to strike that would do the most damage. With time, she came to understand the orcish language, ate just as man and elf flesh as any of them, and occasionally sported several ear piercings. Her skill with a bow, or lack thereof, never really improved, but she did learn to swing a thin chain and wrap it around someone's throat. Orcish swords were too heavy for her to even lift with one hand, let alone swing, so she had to make due with whatever elvish swords she could find. Once she managed to steal a set of shiny garments that were remarkably resilient as armor, though fitting the shirt over her wings was a challenge.

Her normal responsibilities involved battling with men and elves, and helping torture prisoners, usually forcing herbs with hallucinogenic properties down one's throat while an orc held the victim's jaws apart and waiting to extract information from them, or something to that effect. The days, weeks, and months blended into an indiscernible length, and she gained some of Sauron's favor.

The situation was far from ideal, of course. The little respect she had from anyone was more than counterbalanced by everyone's resentment for her. Sauron simply put her to work, and never contemplated the fact that she didn't have a name; so she did without one. No one could have cared less about matters of medicine or hygiene. So she spent most of her time absolutely filthy, and if she sustained an injury, she was on her own.

And she had _many_ injuries. Various cuts, bruises, scrapes, sprains, and fractures abounded. One thought that stood out clearly was during a fight with a man that looked at least seven feet tall, very muscular, and highly intimidating. He had tried to use a mace to smash her head in, but when she ducked, he tried to cut off her sword hand. Luckily, she had been wearing her shiny shirt at the time, and he succeeded in merely breaking her wrist. Sauron had been positively livid, and she had to learn to fence with her other hand.

Things really got interesting when their catapult was finally constructed. A favorite pastime was to take some of the dead, or those that really should have been dead by then, and heave them at the unfortunate's own race. Also on the list of objects that were thrown in the enemy's direction was rocks, anyone or anything diseased, and elves that never finished their change into orcs.

An especially memorable event was she saw the Ring for the first time. Sauron held it in his hand and showed it to her, and she fixed her eyes on it with wonderment. She gazed at it, oblivious to everything else. She unconsciously raised her hand and placed one finger near the Ring. Sauron quickly closed his fingers around the Ring, and she blinked out of her incognizant state. "No," he said.

Once, she and an assembly of orcs were lying in wait, preparing to ambush a troop of elves that were supposed to be passing by when one of the orcs started choking and coughing on the piece of meat on which he had been gnawing. Rather than wait for it to be amended, she immediately slit his throat and pushed the body aside. There were no more disturbances from the rabble.

(A/N: If you really want to get into the mood of this scene, put on Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata." It's the most melancholic song I've ever heard. You'd probably recognize it from the sledgehammer scene in "Misery." Read **slowly**.)

The ambush went very successfully; many elves were killed, and several were taken hostage. She seemed to watch one in particular as he was dragged away, kicking and struggling. She saw him again when he was being tormented, first in the strappado, then with bludgeons. Once, he looked in her direction with hopeless, pleading eyes. But he was struck again, and she returned to her task of mutilating another elf with knives of varying temperature.

When an elf was on the edge of his death, he was prepared to be turned into an orc. About a week or so would pass before the change was complete, and she was there again when the elf she had watched emerged, no longer an angelic fighter, but a warped, hellish one, with a hunger for evil and no memory of his past or what he once was.

The "elf" wasn't especially exceptional as orcs go; he obeyed Sauron's orders. He killed his enemies. There was very little, really, to separate him from any other. It never seemed to dawn on him, or on any of the other orcs, that he was fighting against his former comrades, possibly against friends or family. Extravagantly speaking, he had been drained of his memory, and the empty pit that remained had been filled with darkness.

After an especially agonizing battle, she wandered the field, searching for survivors. She found the orc she had been watching; he was dead. Beside him, lay an elf that was breathing heavily. His eyes were partially glazed over. She knelt down beside him and lifted the tear in his tunic; his insides must have been a mess, for she closed her eyes reverently and laid the cloth back down.

Sitting cross-legged on the ground and pulling him over to her, she gently cradled him in her lap and held his hand, softly stroking his face with the other. For a long time, he gripped her hand tightly and searched her face with blank, unseeing eyes as he slowly died. He squeezed her hand, gasped for breath, and when he let the air out, he didn't take any back in. His pupils expanded until they covered his irises, and he lay still.

She sat there with him in her arms for some time, studying his beautiful face, before she stood, gathered his body in her arms, and walked until she came to the edge of the elvish camp. She laid his body down, closed his eyes, and departed without a sound.

(A/N: End song.)

When she returned, she found somewhere where she could be alone, sat down, and thought. She almost didn't hear the next call to battle, but scrambled up and hurried along. She fought with as much vigor as she ever had and slaughtered many, but when it was over, she got right to dragging the captives back and didn't bother trying to fight anyone for the weaponry they had looted. She had a very thoughtful, preoccupied look from that time until the time that she stood waiting by the forge. She looked around at the gruesome sight with which she had become so familiar: that of elves and men writhing in pain while orcs literally tortured them to death.

"Hey!" A heavy mitt used for metalwork flew at her and hit her in the head. The orc that had thrown it was sitting over a restrained elf and said impatiently, "Stop staring into space and get back to work! I ain't got all day, and the rippers ain't gonna heat themselves!" She tossed the glove back to the orc, used the tongs to pick up a set of now red-hot rippers from the edge of the bellows, and handed them over while the orc said, "C'mon, c'mon. Give 'em here." She ignored the elf's screams of anguish and went back to watching the ironwork that was still heating. But when she wasn't at work or practicing war moves with the other orcs or something like that, the preoccupied look would appear again.

There was no real problem with all this free-time thinking, except that it would spill over into the time that wasn't free. More than once, while she was fighting, she would simply stop and start walking back, slaying only those that held her up, regardless of race. Plenty of the other orcs told Sauron what she was doing, but he had yet to do anything about it.

The turning point came when she and an orc named Bahdbosnauk met. Bahdbosnauk made a fine orc; he was a talented warrior with excellent abilities and ruthless precision, no matter which weapon he chose. He slew men and elves without mercy. The trouble was that he was also a fool-headed narcissist who commanded an unwarranted amount of respect and whose victories allowed his already swollen to ego to grow still further.

She was sitting on her own, the preoccupied look on her face when Bahdbosnauk stomped over to her in a huff. "Listen here, ya wench," he said. "I was doing just fine with that human I was fighting until you came over and killed him. Now I've been bringing in more kills than anyone else around here. It's got me a lotta thanks from Sauron himself, and I won't have some ashen-faced female trying to take any of it away from me. Do you got that?"

She probably didn't get it, seeing as she hadn't stopped rubbing her chin or staring ahead. "Did you anything I just said?" he asked angrily. There was no reply. This obvious lack of attention made Bahdbosnauk particularly furious, so much so that he grabbed her and began shaking her back and forth. "Now, you listen to me, ya scrawny little freak! When I say something, you better listen, or I'll make ya wish that puny wisp of a man had never thought ya up!" He now had her attention, but it wasn't for any good reason. Looking slightly sullen, she gripped his wrist and wrenched away from him. This outraged Bahdbosnauk, and he brought his hand back as though to punch her. She pulled a dagger from his belt and forced it under his ribs. He paused in his swing, looked down, wavered and collapsed.

The next few days found her continually sitting on her own. She didn't practice combat procedures, help torment anyone, or go off to fight. The orcs sent someone to go get her; he came back with a broken hand and part of his ear missing.

Sauron could ignore her no longer. Two orcs escorted her to him while he paced slowly and surveyed her ominously. She met his gaze without faltering. He glared angrily at her and suddenly slapped her across the face. She stumbled, but straightened herself and locked eyes with him again. Sauron kicked her in the stomach, and she fell over again, but she still stood up. Livid, he picked her up by the collar and threw her across the room. She hit the wall and fell to the ground. She wasn't as quick to rise that time. "Disgraceful," he said. "Slacking off in your responsibilities, killing orcs, refusing to obey orders. I should have you killed."

But he didn't kill her, opting instead to calmly walk behind her and remove her cloak. She had hid her silver mail uniform, so Sauron never saw them. But he did see her wings, which were tucked up snuggly against her.

Placing his hands on the rather useless appendages, he spread them out until they were high and wide. He gripped the bases and lifted until she was dangling in the air like a rag doll. Sauron began twisting and pulling the wings in different directions simultaneously. She balled her hands into fists, set her teeth, and refused to flinch while cracks and snaps came from her back. Grabbing her around the back of the neck, he held both wing stems in one hand and pulled down on them while the on-looking orcs leered appreciatively. A loud snap rang out as the wings cracked and hung at an odd angle on her. Her eyes opened wide, and she bit her lip until it bled, eventually closing her eyes as though exhausted.

Still handling the disconnected appendages, Sauron let go of her neck, placed in on her back, and started pushing, her eyes closed tight and her fists shaking. He ultimately abandoned pushing with his hand and placed his foot on her back, pushing with that instead. Blood was fairly dripping from her fists where her nails dug into her palms. There were the sounds of tearing and a thick, sickening squelching noise as the set of limbs were ripped from her back. She fell to the ground as Sauron tossed the wings aside. He took a torch that was burning on the wall and plunged it into the wounds, temporarily sealing them.

Sauron summoned an orc and said, "Don't let her pass out or loose too much blood. And don't break or remove anything. I want her to have complete use of her every faculty. I'll be back later." And with that, he walked away.

The orcs fell on her with vigor. She was beaten and pummeled relentlessly until she bled. As a means of adding insult to injury, they took the discarded wings, which had dragged uselessly on the ground so many times, and used them to thrash her. Afterward, she was slashed over her nose and mouth. The back of her shirt was torn, and she was scourged. Small, sharp pieces of metal and wood were shoved underneath her fingernails. Hot water was poured down her throat, and afterwards, a small cut was made so her throat wouldn't swell. Bits of paper doused in oil where placed between her toes and fingers and set on fire. Between torture methods, she was repeatedly beaten. She didn't make any sounds, but every blow made her grimace and tense up.

When Sauron finally came back, she was more severely battered than she had ever been in battle. She was literally covered in bruises and gashes. It was entirely likely that her ribs had been fractured or that one of her teeth had been knocked out. Both of her eyebrows and lips and been split, her eyes had been swollen shut, and there was a tear in one of her ears. Her nose bled profusely, and her saliva was lined with blood. Everything on her, from her head to her feet, dripped blood until it made a small puddle of blood and other bodily fluids where she stood.

While Sauron looked her up and down, she used her nails to make slashes on her eyelids, causing the blood to drain and the swelling to go down. Unfortunately, the blood from her lids and brows also dripped into her eyes, so it was highly unlikely that she could see anyway.

Sauron idly fiddled with his sword and studied her coldly. "It's fitting, I suppose, that you should decide to reject me as an owner; it wouldn't be the first time. And now here you are, a pitiful nothing. You were never even given a name, were you?" Letting his blade wander in front of her face, he said, "Where's your spirit now?"

She spat blood on the ground and raised her eyes to his. Hers were unreadable. Standing up straight, she brought her right hand in front of her. It hovered near the blade as though she were about to place her hand on it. Instead, she brought it to the left and used the back of her hand to slap it in the other direction. Her previously blank face suddenly made a sneer, one of utter disgust and disdain.

Whatever Sauron expected her to do, this clearly was not it. He stared at her and practically quivered. Livid didn't begin to describe his attitude. "Gudor," he said slowly. An orc approached him. Sauron said simply, "Make her bleed." The orcs looked as though they could very easily have started giggling with sadistic glee. She didn't try to escape or struggle, but she eyed some the instruments.

Before any of them could be used on her, however, another orc ran in, screaming about how the humans and the elves had found a weak spot in their wall and were trying to breach it. With so many others already out, they would all the help they could get to fight off the enemy. The orcs that held her looked at Sauron for some kind of instruction. He stood there, most put out with the timing, and struggled with what to do before ordering that she be put in a cell until they could resume. She snatched up her cloak, which way forgotten on the ground, before she was taken away.

The cells in Sauron's fortress were appalling, even for cells. The air was dank, the floors filthy, and the walls rat-infested. When she was thrown in, the moon that shown through the window was high and full, the only source of light in the cramped quarters. For a minute, she just laid there on the floor, but she eventually hauled herself up. Grimacing, she leaned back against the wall and panted. She pulled several vials from her cloak's pockets and drank the contents of one. Another she gradually emptied on her skin, rubbing it into her wounds. She took a strip of material from her shirt and several herbs from another bottle and used them to bind up her injuries.

From the smallest container came a needle made of bone. After carefully pulling several threads from her shirt, she attempted to sew up some of the more unpleasant incisions, including those on her arms and cheeks. The stitches weren't very straight, but they would probably hold. Without a doubt, the most difficult to fix was the tear in her ear. She gritted her teeth and had to feel the rip to be certain it hadn't folded over on itself and wouldn't heal that way.

By the time she had begun clearing off the floor, rain had started pouring through the window. Wincing, she slowly lay down, her ravaged, exposed back pressed against a floor that was dirty, cold, and now wet. She fell asleep that way.

How long she was there couldn't be said with a surety. It was long enough that some of her less dire wounds healed. Because there was no food, she had to make do with what she had; she would lie very still on the floor and wait for one of the bolder rats to come and nibble on her fingers before grabbing it. The rats always bit savagely, but she snapped them in half before they could cause any serious damage. She would often wake up to find them gnawing on her fingers or her wounds.

At one point, she awoke with a start due to the shaking of the ground. It was thundering outside, and as the sound grew louder, she scaled the wall to the window. Wrapping her arms around the bars, she held onto the frame and watched what happening outside. It was as though the fog was being quick sucked into one spot. Suddenly, miles away, there was a burst of light, and a shockwave threw everything back, including her.

She fell onto the ground, but immediately stood up as the building began to rumble. The room was pulled in two different directions, and the cell was soon ripped in two. The crack in the wall was as much as four feet wide. Peering through and seeing the league of dazed orcs that were slowly starting to make their way back, she clambered out of the room. Without looking back, she ran as fast as she could in one direction and shortly disappeared into the fog.


	18. Her Story: MONGOLS, VIKINGS

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

Two (or three) thank you's go out to Gir the Insane Flamin Ninja. I'm glad you like the story.

When she woke up, she found herself lying facedown on the ground, damp with the morning dew. She was in the forest, at the base of a tree, in a pile of leaves. It was chilly enough that her breath came out like puffs of smoke. In the light, one could see that she was still marred with cuts, bruises, burn wounds, and rat bites. She shakily climbed to her feet and got her balance before taking off running again. It was a long while before she stopped.

She sat on a stump, panting. She looked to one side and saw a bush that had mostly iced over. Closer inspection revealed frozen rose hips. She reached over, snapped one off, and tentatively took a bite. She chewed on the hard object like she didn't know what to think of it.

She was halfway through chewing when she froze and a far-off look crossed her face. The feeling faded and she shook herself a bit. She glanced just to her left, near her feet and spied a small mouse. She quickly grabbed it and snapped its tiny neck. She spat out the half ground rose hip and threw the other half away, consuming the mouse carcass and downing it in one bite. She also swallowed some of the ice she scraped off the rose bush.

She spent most of the day running, pausing only occasionally and often looking over her shoulder, toward Mordor. When night came, she curled up at the base of a tree and shivered until she fell asleep.

She lived this way for anywhere from a few days to perhaps three weeks or so. The climate didn't get much warmer. The terrain became steadily rockier and more barren, with fewer rivers and little or no trees. She ate whatever fish or small animals she could catch. She saw no people.

This last statistic changed early one morning. She had been sleeping sitting up with her back against a tree when she awoke and found the blade of a long spear aimed pointedly at her neck. The man holding it had dark skin, black hair, and almond-shaped eyes. He looked fearsome and muscular. His wrists were easily the size of her neck. The horse atop which he was sitting could have been seventeen hands tall. Waking up to the sight of this man perched on such an animal and holding a weapon to her throat while staring ominously down at her was clearly not how she cared to begin her morning. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she returned his gaze with only a look of irritation to acknowledge that he had made an impression on her.

The tall stranger nudged the blade of his lance up against the underside of her chin in an attempt to make her stand. In one swift motion, he leaned down, grabbed her by the scruff of her neck, and pulled her onto his steed. Twisting one of her wrists behind her back and pulling it up, he kept her pinned in a sitting position with her back against his chest. They galloped off in one direction, forcing her to grab a handful of the horse's mane to hold herself steady. They traveled for a while before coming upon a camp of sorts. There were portable-looking buildings and three times as many horses as men. The people resembled her abductor: tall with dusky skin and dark hair and eyes.

As they approached, her strange appearance caused those nearby to point and stare. The woman looked at her and spoke to each other in a foreign tongue and laughed; she paid them no heed. Gargantuan as these people were in size, one man in particular towered above the rest. He was dressed in furs, and the sight of him would have frightened anyone.

The men spoke to each other briefly as the first took her wrist from behind her back and slung her off the horse. She hid the ground on her side and took her time standing up while the other men snickered. One of them, holding her by the hair, dragged her off towards another tent and threw her inside.

There were a few other women there. Some were obviously not from the clan; they had lighter skin or different facial characteristics, and they looked very afraid, one to the point of blubbering miserably in her hands. The rest were of the camp's kind, and they seemed completely unagitated by the whimperings of the women around them. Each person sat on a rug on the floor with a blanket and pillow piled on one end. She, after quickly eyeing the room, went to the back and sat in the corner, watching everything happen from a shadow.

She was still in that corner later that night, while they all slept. There was a raucous festivity outside and the men were loud in their revelry. Once or twice, a man, drunk as a bum and twice as loud, would stumble in, snatch up the girl of his choice, and practically haul her off. The native women seemed to handle this rather well, but the others were literally dragged away kicking and screaming.

The fourth time a man floundered in, the outside light landed in her corner. The man, inebriated as he was, caught sight of her framed in the tight space and made his way toward her. While the more frightened of the women squeaked and crawled away, she sat still just long enough for him to lunge at her. She rolled out of the way and stood up, not in a state of hysterics, but certainly very alert. Pulling out probably the smallest weapon she had, an elven dagger, she hunched over into a fighting position while the man stood up, somewhat dazed and confused. He came at her again and she dodged. This continued until the man was sincerely put out. He ran at her once more, but she moved out of his way and he fell out of the tent.

This probably wouldn't have been as noticeable if he had gone through the door. Unfortunately, he ran not only through the fabric wall, but also into one of the poles holding up the structure. The pole was snapped cleanly in two, and half of the building collapsed. She, being nearest this new hole in the wall, was able to emerge without much struggle while plenty of the other women found it rather difficult to fight their way out from under the piles of heavy material.

All this commotion naturally drew a fair deal of attention from the previously partying camp dwellers, preventing her from making a discreet escape. She suddenly found herself surrounded by very tall, muscular men who hadn't all drunk themselves into a stupor. One of them walked actually quite steadily towards her with a weapon that looked like a machete and swung it near her face. She backed away with just a few hairs cut short, but he kept advancing and swinging until she had a few nicks on her face and on her shirt. It seemed like certain death for her when she found her back against the wall, but she slid low enough that she was able to twist her dagger into his side. He yelled, more in anger than in discomfort, and while he was almost doubled up, she got behind him and used her elbow to rabbit punch him twice.

Another man came forward, and when she saw him, the look on her face said what she could not: "Oh no." He was half as wide as he was tall and wielding a huge mace, which he swung down at her. She managed to avoid his attacks a few times, but he caught her in the side and she hit the dirt shoulder first. Clasping the ribs that had most likely been refractured, she heaved herself up on one elbow in time to see him about to bring the club down on her. The stick would surely have broken half of the bones in her body had she not rolled away. The blunt end of the thing cracked upon hitting the ground. When she stood up, he grabbed her around her throat with one hand picked her up clean off the ground. While her feet kicked a little under her and her face grew red, he held up his weapon near her head, as though making sure he knew where it would land. He was prepared to smash in her skull when she pulled out a dirk and plunged it into the elbow of the arm that held her. He cried out in genuine pain and dropped both her and his mace while trying to pull the blade from his ruined joint.

The men who had stood by watching now swarmed in on her, and no amount of time spent in Mordor had prepared her enough to take on this lot. They pushed her and pulled at her and scratched, and it was only when the tallest man of all pushed through, yelling at these men that they all stopped. He surveyed her from where she crouched, bruised and cut. He said something to one of the men in the crowd and walked away while the other pulled her up and followed him.

She found herself sitting in front of a fire in his tent, while he spoke calmly to the man who had brought her inside. When he left, the taller man looked at her from his chair as though she was something he was trying to understand. This colossus of a human being strode around the fire towards her until he was standing over her. She didn't face him, but eyed him without moving her head. When he suddenly brought his hand above his head, her eye twitched and her hand jumped up with her fingers in a curled position. He put his hand down and continued staring at her.

He spoke in the foreign tongue while walking back and sitting down in his chair. He continued speaking and looked at her when she didn't react. The man said something to her in this strange language; she must not have understood, for she furrowed her eyebrows and tilted her head slightly in confusion. Pausing, he said with very deliberate syllables, "You speak Westron?" Hers changed from a look of lacking comprehension to almost anticipation. "You speak at all?" Her brows furrowed again, and she gave her head a small, slow shake. The man "hmphed" and said, "I was saying that my men and I would not kill you.

"I am Kolenka, the leader of this tribe. You are a stranger, found half-starved beneath a tree in the wilderness. You die by my will and my men's swords. You understand your position?" She nodded. "Good. I would ask from where you hail. But since the nearest country is Mordor, from where many strange creatures come, I will not bother.

"Raising your hand above your head tells much about a person. A warrior will reach for their weapon. A child or dog which has been beaten will flinch. You did both." Kolenka was interrupted when a small voice said, "Papa?" They turned to see a small boy, no more than four years old, with large, black eyes standing near a side entrance. "Tolya," the man said. "What are you doing awake?" "Papa," the child said, walking towards him. "Papa, who is that? A siny?" Kolenka smiled and nodded. "Yes, stranger. Go to sleep." The youngster toddled off to obey his father. Kolenka smiled after his son, but forgot his affection upon returning his attention to her.

He stirred the fire before continuing. "To let you go would be merciful, which of course I cannot be. To let Rurik and Fang have their way with you would be sensible but boring. To make sport of you would be entertaining, and I can afford to do it in front of most of my men. I've decided."

As if this was explanation enough, Kolenka shouted, and someone entered behind her. They spoke and she was promptly yanked back outside. The crowd growled when they saw her, and Kolenka had to shout at them to keep them away. His naturally commanding tone was put to practical use while addressing the riled mob. They remained relatively calm throughout the session, but suddenly they roared their disapproval at one of his statements.

She kept her stone face for the most part, but something caught her attention, and her eyes grew wide as she inhaled a shallow breath. She suddenly clapped her hands together in an attempt to catch the arrow that had been flying at her chest. Though the arrow was stopped from embedding itself in her torso, it managed to slip past her hand and into the side of her wrist, just below her thumb. It made a three-inch mound in her arm, with the tip buried in the muscle just between her skin and her radius.

The sudden appearance of this odd protrusion caused members of the audience to murmur and look at each other, trying to establish who had fired the shot. Kolenka had fallen silent and watched while she grasped the arrow and steadily pulled it from her arm.

Kolenka frowned, speaking again in loud tones. In response, a man was pushed forward, the same who had stumbled through the tent. The two spoke rather heatedly and animatedly as she pressed her hand against the wound, stanching the blood. The archer said something accusingly and pointed at her. Kolenka glared but didn't respond. "_I_ know who she is!" Everyone turned and saw Tolya standing outside one the tents. "She's the siny!" The members of the camp laughed at the sheer innocence of the child's simple, straightforward logic. Kolenka grinned wolfishly and said, "Yes, she is the siny! Very good!"

Chuckling a moment longer, but soon becoming serious, he addressed the crowd once again. When he finished, they slowly dispersed, many of the people giving her looks of uncertainty, some of distrust and loathing. Kolenka hauled her to her feet, saying, "You will go back to the women's tent for now. Also, I've just been told that Fang is doing well, and Rurik will never be able to bend his arm again."

This last fact caused several people to be quite furious with her the following day, Rurik in particular. While he couldn't inflict any serious damage on her while Kolenka had any say, he did take full advantage of his first opportunity to swing his dead limb and slap her across the face, leaving an ugly gash on her cheek.

No one had time to notice this, as everyone was tearing down the camp and preparing to move out. Kolenka told her they were a naturally nomadic people whose livelihood depended on their ability to travel quickly from one place to another. Their latest activity, he said, was to conquer a nearby town, on which she would accompany them and prove if she had any worth. Along the way, he proudly expounded on their ability to survive on the harsh, rugged terrain and on their unique military technique. Other civilizations, he said, made the mistake of dragging along a food caravan wherever they went. Their people however, took no such supplies, opting instead to eat a yogurt made from the milk of their mares. If they needed to, they would make a small cut their horse's neck and suck the warm blood from the wound. Having experienced before the nauseous results that followed after one consumed too much blood, she rarely participated in this feeding ritual.

Also, the average military unit only took along a single horse for every man; they took three. Kolenka explained that this enabled them to switch off when one horse got too tired, allowing them to complete the journey three times faster.

But the real genius, Kolenka said, lay in their individual plan of attack. Working in well-organized sets of ten, groups of them would suddenly attack a village or town during the winter months. They hit the unsuspecting community from all different angles, using spears, speed, surprise, terror, and most notably, their superior horsemen-archery abilities and fearsome reputation to conquer whomever they chose.

It went exactly as planned: rushing in with a fury, the tribesmen put their talents with the bow to good use. Though she still had little use for a bow, she could wield a sword as well as most. They attacked with vigor and were well-rewarded for their efforts. For all its size and life, the shocked and horrified town never stood a chance.

Kolenka came forward after the while short siege had ended, while plenty of his men were raiding homes, looking for food, goods, or an attractive female. "You see," he said triumphantly. "'Winter?' people say. '_No_ one attacks inwinter' You see what happens when you do what people don't expect. Impressive, eh?" She surveyed the area with the calmest of glances and gave a short nod. Kolenka laughed, exclaiming, "The Siny approves!"

She stayed with the tribe longer than she had stayed with Sauron. Though plenty of the men didn't approve of the idea of any woman who acted even remotely like a man, she often joined them on their conquering raids. Kolenka kept some of the peace by declaring that she would always live with the women and would never have her own horse. Fang and Rurik never liked or trusted her, nor did many of the other tribe members, but a few learned to appreciate her talents with a blade. One man even tried to give her a lesson on archery. He later gained back his comrades' respect when he said he would rather teach a woman to use a bow than risk losing his limbs when she swung about her sword.

Living among Kolenka's people was a change from living with orcs. Though similarly barbaric, the tribe was still comprised of humans that didn't follow quite the same protocol. While slaying anyone who irked you was punishable, those few who openly opposed Kolenka's word would mysteriously vanish for a few hours and be found after suffering a convenient and untimely demise. While they all practically starved trying to survive on mare's milk, bits of horse's blood, and whatever rodents they could find, it was considered appalling to eat a corpse. Though earrings were occasionally taken as bounty, it was thought highly unusual to wear them, to even have pierced ears. Also, orcs were created; humans were born. So when one of the expectant wives suddenly found herself standing in a puddle of water and suffering from sharp abdominal pains, it turned out to be a learning experience for everyone involved, including the observant, thoroughly alarmed "Siny."

During the proceeding months, Kolenka would sometimes meet with leaders of other tribes of the same persuasion, often to exchange news or declare war on each other. Visiting ambassadors occasionally asked about the strange, skinny little wench that sat near the corral, practicing her fencing and falling off her horse. Kolenka would tell them that they had happened upon the Siny, as they called her, by accident and found her a decent fighter, if a poor archer. The other chiefs thought this was most unusual, but Kolenka was respected enough that they didn't question him on it.

They found it more important to discuss their campaign to conquer neighboring lands. They were having terrific success, and their territory had spread farther than they had anticipated in the past few months. When they were feeling particularly proud of their own achievements, they had a huge banquet with roaring fires and a great deal of wine said to have come from Havoth-jair, one of their previous exploits.

One morning, having consumed more than her own fair share of the dark drink the night before, she awoke to find a small, brown mark on her arm, similar to symbols from the people's written language. Kolenka told her that she was, if possible, more solemn when she was intoxicated than when she was sober, saying she had spent most of the evening staring at her horse. He also told her the mark on her arm would vanish in a few days, unlike the more permanent tattoo on his arm from a party several years previous.

Once, after the meal was over, several long, cylindrically shaped objects were brought out and bits of fire held under them. Having never seen one of these odd-looking things, she leaned forward and observed the practice with curiosity. There was a sudden bright burst of light and a high-pitched screaming as it soared into the air and exploded in flashes of color. The people cheered, but she closed her eyes, covered her ears, and gritted her teeth, unpleasantly surprised at the noise and light. She immediately went into one of the tents and stayed there for the remainder of the evening, with a pillow held firmly over her flapped-down ears.

Kolenka, whose main concern was furthering his own dominion, continued to push the clan westward, hoping to gain as much as he could. While traveling in this perpetually northwestern direction, the air would grow still colder and the terrain more rocky. The clan handled it all very well, and it was eternally obvious that these men were made of sturdier stuff than those she had fought against in Mordor.

There came a time, long after she had mastered riding a horse and most had stopped complaining about her battling with the men, that they came to a cliff from which they could make out sea. They rode towards the shore, and upon reaching it, Kolenka exclaimed he had never seen so much water in one place.

A thin trail of smoke in the distance caught their attention. Prepared to overpower another town if needed, they made a beeline for it, traveling all day and into the night. The smoke, which had suddenly become thick and gray, blocked out the stars and was almost impossible to distinguish from the darkened sky. They stopped a few miles before reaching their destination, and she and another man were sent ahead to see if it was safe to proceed. When scarcely a mile away, they tied off their horses and crept forward, hiding in the trees and watching from a distance.

The town was ablaze. Women could be heard screaming while armed men rushed about outside. They were cut down by tall figures that swung gigantic axes and swords, the latter seeming to catch her attention. They seemed larger in stature than those they were attacking, similar to Kolenka's men, but they had no horses and, most intriguingly, they seemed to pay special attention to attacking people's legs, of all things.

After observing all this, they rode back to camp, where Kolenka was waiting. When asked the condition of the town, the man replied, "It is a mess. Someone else is already attacking." Surprised, Kolenka asked, "Another clan?" She shook her head. "No," the man continued. "Someone different. They had light skin and no horses." Considering this, Kolenka said, "We wait until morning; let them do work for us."

The following morning, she and Kolenka's clan rode calmly into the town. The smoke and fog blended in perfectly, and both were so thick that the clansmen seemed to materialize out of nothing. A few of the victims sat huddling in the shambles of their burnt buildings, watching them with the same fearful eyes that had followed them through their own conquests. They soon met the other attackers.

These were men of the same build, but not race. They were similarly tall and muscular, but they had light skin and fair hair. They had huge arms and wore thick fur-trimmed coats over their tunics. They wielded swords and axes, but surprisingly, spears seemed to be their weapon of choice.

When approached, the fairer strangers stood up, and one pointed and said in a threatening tone, "Who are you?" Kolenka answered mightily in his native tongue, looking very authoritative and impressive. The other men, looking as though they were trying to hide their befuddlement, became irritated and sneered.

The one clearly marked as the leader of this outfit looked Kolenka in the eye and proudly said, "I am Valdemar, the conqueror of this and many other villages. You are trespassing on our victory." Kolenka calmly responded, "You make good time only. Had you come any later, it would have been we who owned this town. In fact, it is only my orders that kept my men from attacking you last night."

Valdemar raised an eyebrow. "You think you could have beaten the Normans, who no one can defeat?" Kolenka answered, "Easily." Valdemar's men took offense and drew their weapons as though to attack. Kolenka's men nocked their arrows and prepared to release if needs be. Seeing that the archers on horseback had the obvious advantage, Valdemar ordered his men lowered their blades; they obeyed, but kept them at hand.

Valdemar frowned at Kolenka. "It is you who has good timing. Were it not for the fog, we would have sailed away by now." Kolenka smirked, showing off strong, white teeth. "You make the task that much easier- no one to fight."

Patience obviously wearing thin, Valdemar snarled. "Did you come to fight or just to insult us?" Kolenka answered simply, "Neither. We come to see if you are friend.

"My people are on a campaign to conquer the land. You seem to want to conquer the sea. If you aid us, you come when we are at war and you pay our tax when you land." "And if we don't want to be subject to your tyranny?" "Then we flay you alive and eat your flesh."

It will probably never be known whether it was Kolenka's casual yet sincere attitude when describing their grisly demise or his obvious advantage in numbers and strength that had more of an effect on Valdemar, but nevertheless, he paused for only a moment before agreeing to work under him. Kolenka grinned wolfishly. "Very good." He dismounted and continued. "I am Kolenka, and these are my men. I suggest that we become acquainted now; we won't have time to this afternoon, when more of the chieftains arrive. And as long as we are doing that, let us also discuss that tax."

Sure enough, at least three other tribes joined Kolenka's, sealing the fate of Valdemar and his men of being ruled over by strangers. Over a short period of time, it was explained to these Normans that Kolenka's people would collect a set amount every time they landed on that shore. They would be charged one third of their rewards whenever they attacked anyone in that country. The prospect made Valdemar absolutely quiver with rage, but there was nothing he could do about it.

The problem could very easily have been solved by simply leaving when the fog lifted and never returning, but of course, conditions made their situation not very simple at all. Kolenka and the other chiefs, after lengthy discussion, decided that going to war against another clan was an excellent idea. "Markov was always a terrible leader and a slovenly host and I never liked him very much!"

As a direct result, the Normans now had to stay on shore with Kolenka and his men to help fight Markov's clan for honor and titles and so on and so forth. This meant that while fighting, the two cultures became very well acquainted indeed. When he had finished raging over losing a portion his winnings, Valdemar actually began to warm up to Kolenka and grew to appreciate his people's particular style of warfare. Kolenka, likewise, was rather impressed with how the Normans ran things.

Both cultures seemed to favor attacking weak, unsuspecting towns and cities, thereby avoiding any pitched battles. The Normans liked to seize a small land base from which they could repeatedly attack a town, moving in further whenever the people did.

Valdemar explained that, like Kolenka's people, the Normans were trained to be great warriors from the time that they were very small. Even their childhood games taught them how to fight. A personal favorite was to throw a spear as far as you could and see if another could catch it. A common chore among youngsters was to practice chopping wood with both arms, building up their strength.

They came from a cold country, he said, with rough terrain and many fjords. Waterways naturally became their highway to other lands. His people prided themselves on their abilities as ship makers, boasting that they were the best ever. Their ships were wide and shallow, allowing them to be sailed over seas and up rivers, and if necessary, be carried over the ground. Unlike others, they were also covered in thick black tar, sealing the boards together and making them nearly impossible to sink. These ships would be rowed everyday for miles, which was why they had such gigantic arms. This, along with years of chopping wood with either arm, allowed them to switch hands while fighting, a trait Kolenka had admired in the Siny for quite some time and admired in the Normans now.

He was especially impressed with their scheme for intimidating the enemy. One of the tallest, most muscular men, called a berserker, would stand in the front of the crowd. First they would doff their armor, until they were nearly bare. They would begin to howl like wolves and bite the edges of their shields until their mouths bled. Then they would dance around madly as though possessed, causing the already frightened enemy to become simply petrified. Without warning, the berserkers would then charge towards their opponent, howling and screaming like madmen. The rest of their men would move towards the terrified foe in a wedge formation, finishing off whatever the berserker left behind.

Needless to say, when Kolenka and the other tribesmen had settled whatever disagreement that had them warring in the first place, he and Valdemar were able to say good-bye on slightly more amiable terms. A few days before they were set to leave, Kolenka noticed her standing a ways off, watching the men prepare their ship. Standing next to her, he asked, "Do you want to go with them?" She looked at him as though to ask what brought on the question. "You feeling restless? A need to explore, see the world?" He paused, then said, "I wouldn't blame you. Nothing holds you here with us except your own decisions. You've certainly stayed here longer than I might have expected. It has been many years since Lei brought you to us. No doubt they could offer something new." She looked at the ground, nodded, and looked back at Kolenka. He nodded understandingly. "Rurik and Fang won't exactly cry when they hear that you're leaving. But I can honestly say that I will feel the loss of a comrade."

She left with the Normans carrying what few items she possessed: a few weapons, a dead hare, as many herbs as the barren land could produce, a folded blanket in a bag, and a suit of mithril that she never let anyone discover. Kolenka and his tribe stood on the shore with the horse that was once hers, mounted atop their own steeds and watching her drift off. Within the hour, they were gone from her sight and from her life.

It was on that boat that she learned many things she might never have learned otherwise. Firstly, she learned that she did not become seasick. Secondly, she learned that as long as she wasn't seasick, she would help row. Thirdly, she learned that while she may have been stronger than most women, she was not strong enough to row for hours on end, for days at a time.

After several weeks of rowing until her arms refused to move, with battles few and far between, they came to a harbor where they could restock. It was a remote, international port where sailors, merchants, pirates, and all manner of seafarers could make berth. It was there that, while Valdemar and the other Normans she had come to know were taking care of provisions, she stood on a small dock and observed a tiny town, filed with things she had never seen and places she had never been. When Valdemar called to her, she turned but didn't move. He waited for a few minutes, trying to comprehend her thoughts, then said, "Very well then. Let's go." He and his companions rowed away, leaving her standing on a dock in a place where she had never been.

She watched the spot where they had eventually disappeared, as though waiting to see if they would turn around and come back for her. But they never did. She eventually turned around and stood facing this same, lonely city, standing just at the edge of the dock but not moving onto the dirt road. After a while, she slowly put her foot down on the shore, the other soon following. As though trying to decide if this felt any different from the dock, she stood and watched her own feet. Then she took her first steps out of everything she had known and into a world she had yet to discover.


	19. Her story: Domestically challenged

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.

Thanks again to Gir the Insane Flamin Ninja. I'm trying to write more often! Really!

Most of following years and memories phased into one large, flowing timeline, and it was impossible to determine whether or not the events were in order.

She took up the occupation of a wanderer, drifting off to another town whenever she had a mind to. She rarely stayed anywhere for more than a day or so unless otherwise prompted. She spent most of her days meandering down the highway, though she occasionally fell in with a specific crowd or lived through a more notable experience.

She once became a member of a band of petty thieves, from whom she learned to pickpocket. When traveling with a medicine man, she learned remedies for nearly every wound. During a very brief spell when she worked a seamstress, she learned how to repair the clothes she had rarely, if ever, replaced.

More memorable events occurred during the years. She spent a great deal of time with traveling circus, mingling with others who, like herself, were thought to be strange and abnormal, called "freaks." There were tiny people who stood barely three feet tall, yet denied being dwarves; a set of twins who were, quite literally, joined at the hip; a woman who ate with her feet because she had no arms; and a man who crawled everywhere on his belly because he had neither arms nor legs.

In addition to these "freaks," there were also magicians and performers of every stunt. One man stunned audiences when he swallowed a live mouse, smoked a few puffs from his pipe, and brought the mouse back up, alive and unharmed. He would ask a viewer a question and produce the answer, written in fire on the skin of his bare arm. He would swallow a bundle of strings and a handful of needles, then carefully draw the string from his mouth, needles neatly strung on at regular intervals.

Another man had a special event, called The Challenge, during which he would challenge anyone to bind or confine him in such a way that he could not escape. He was repeatedly bound in ropes, chains, and locks of all kinds, in all circumstances. He could escape from them all. When she became his assistant, he revealed to her the many locking picks and methods he had used to free himself and taught her how to use them.

When hosting to more selective crowds, the performers would put on plays where everyone sung rather than spoke and music was played behind a screen. She eventually learned to play a flute and joined the musicians, where she was able to view the performance and the spectators' reaction. The audience gasped when foes crossed blades and cheered when lovers were reunited. During their most tragic performance, many people could actually be seen crying where they sat. One actor became so involved that his character broke down in tears on stage while still valiantly repeating his lines and singing his verses and the poor man didn't stop after he exited the stage.

She kept herself occupied for many years by working as a mercenary. She successfully slew generals, ambassadors, rebel leaders, and even a king and his heir, all before slipping off the wall of a fortress and nearly being discovered when she fell through the roof of the bird coop below.

There were many battles in which she participated, of course; for as long as anyone could remember, there had always been someone at war with someone else. She was only captured once; her captors threatened to cut off her ears to see if they were real, prompting her immediate escape.

She once witnessed a trial when one woman accused another woman of being a witch, a common new pastime in the area. The judge, who seemed to have more common sense than those in the surrounding towns, ordered that the defendant be released and that her accuser be whipped three times and fined eighteen gold shillings.

A more memorable event occurred when a gang of hoodlums tried to make trouble for her and she bartered her way out of town on the next available ship. She wound up on a trade ship, sailing towards the southern islands. After an exceptionally long journey, they came to an island with characteristics she probably wasn't expecting. The air was hot and humid. The people had dark, brown skin and black hair. There wasn't any soil on the shore, but there was a great deal of white sand. The trees were unusual, with gigantic green leaves at the top, but few below, and large, colorful flowers dotted the plants.

Since the crew wasn't in any kind of a hurry, they decided to stay on the island. Many of the men decided to, as the captain described, "shack up with the nearest woman," and she was left mostly to her own devices. The people thought she was fascinating; they felt her ears and marveled at her salt-white skin.

The "highlight" of that particular journey came after she discovered porpoises and took up the habit of watching them bump above the water at sunrise. She walked out to a lagoon and was swimming under the sea, studying the reef, when she noticed a few dark shadows near her. She surfaced and saw that the shadows were three or four corpulent porpoises. For a moment, she just treaded, watching them play in the water. But when they began to move away, she followed. She began mimicking their style of swimming under water, rather than trying to keep her head up. She and these fat water animals would occasionally swirl around one another in the water. She learned that, much like the natives, she could see under salt water.

It was only after the porpoises suddenly disappeared that she stopped and looked around. She was very far from the shore. She was swimming back and noticed that there was another animal following her. It soon drew nearer and began darting around her, like a vulture circling a dying creature. It was similar to the porpoises, but different somehow. When she got closer to the reef, it began bumping into her. It rubbed her hand, and she felt rough, scratchy skin. Its eyes were black and as empty as her own could be. She was almost to the reef when it grabbed her by the leg with its mouth and shook her vigorously. She surfaced, spat out water, and gasped for air, dazed and confused. She was shortly dragged back under the surface by her arm. This time, it didn't let her go and continued swimming towards the seabed. She brought out the one weapon she had, a dagger, and forced it into the now white eye. It probably wasn't the wisest decision, but given her situation, it was all she had.

Wise decision or not, it released her. She swam up thirty feet before she came to the air. Light-headed, frightened, and undoubtedly grateful that she had worn her mithril shirt, she swam back to the reef and didn't stop until she had reached the beach. She lay on her back on the sand and coughed until she was almost sick. When she described to the best of her ability what had happened, the locals all said she had been attacked by what was called a shark and was lucky to be alive. For the rest of the crew's stay, she avoided the water.

But possibly the most unique experience for the great many years she was alive came after an average night of traveling through the woods and falling asleep against a tree. She opened her eyes the following morning and discovered a small boy with tangled brown hair staring intently at her with wide eyes and an expression that said, "Should I be worried?" They stared at each other for a while. Then her eye twitched. The boy turned and ran screaming in the opposite direction, "_MUMMY!_"

She stood up and surveyed the area. She was on a small farm, with a barn and cottage and acres of field. A man chopping wood near the farm house and watched the boy run inside. He turned to see what had caused the squealing and saw her. He caught his breath and widened his eyes, but nevertheless remained calm. She stared back at him with her token expression; she was used to people looking at her strangely.

The boy ran back outside with his mother in tow, pointing and yelling, "Her, her, the scary woman, Momma, look!" His mother squeaked upon seeing her and pressed her son against her stomach, while the children that had followed her clung to her skirts. "Aart?" the woman said. The man said, "Take everyone back inside, Ygeme. Get them fed." After they had all scurried into the house, Aart strode over and looked her squarely in the eye. Neither blinked for minute, but after a while, he leaned forward and whispered dryly, "They're all watching at the window right now." He grinned wryly and leaned back. "Have you eaten anything this morning?" She shook her head and her stomach growled. Raising one eyebrow, he asked, "Did you eat anything last night?" She shook her head once more. Leaning in again, he asked in a low tone, "Can you talk?" She shook her head a third time. Nodding understandingly, Aart said, "I wouldn't normally invite someone with whom I'm not acquainted in to breakfast, but I hate to send someone off hungry. Would you like to come in?"

She followed him into the tiny cottage where the children sat at a table, wolfing down as much food as they were throwing. Ygeme and a female adolescent stood next to the fireplace, stirring a boiling pot of something that did not in any way resemble any kind of food _she_ had ever eaten. They immediately fell silent when they saw her. "Ygeme, is there any more food left?" Aart asked. "Our guest is hungry." Ygeme mumbled some inaudible statement and searched for a spare bowl while the younger woman looked at "their guest" as though allowing her to eat there was an act of charity.

An elderly couple came down the stairs. "Father!" Aart hugged the man and woman. "Mum! How did you sleep?" "Terrible!" the old man announced. "Couldn't sleep at all! Oh!" he exclaimed upon seeing the newcomer. "Who's this then?" "Faran found her, if you can believe that. She was hungry, so I invited her in." Ygeme came over asking her, "How's this, enough?" She looked in the bowl and nodded. "Stayin' for breakfast, is she?" the old man turned and hollered at the children, "Make room for our guest, ya little beasts! Go on, then, shoo!" The children were practically falling over themselves to leave the table, but she took her bowl, shook her head again, and walked outside.

She ate the unusually-colored gruel outside on the grass and listened to the conversations that went on inside. "Aart, really," Ygeme was saying, "Have you no consideration for your family? Bringing that strange woman into the house with your wife and children." Aart replied, "Now calm yourself, Ygeme. I think we'll be alright." "I don't like her at all." The haughty voice of a young woman could be heard. "She looks mean and dirty like she's never had a bath and she probably smells and she dresses like a man." "Shut up, ya brat!" the old man yelled. "No one gives damn whether yah like her or not!" "Xiomar!" the older woman was saying. "Don't talk like that, it's unbecoming. And Ygeme's right, you don't know anything about that person. Drifters are strange people; she could be a danger to your children." "The only thing she seems a danger to is our food." It went back and forth this way for some time.

When she came back inside, the adults were all seated at the table. She returned the bowl and turned to leave when Xiomar called to her. "Wait, now, missy! Don't go without settin' with us a mite!

"Aart tells us ya can't speak, eh?" Everyone's reactions made it clear that this was not what they thought he should have said. "That's alright, I probably couldn't hear ya anyway!" The elder woman asked, "What's your name, dear? Where are you from, and what brings you to these parts?" She shrugged noncommittally. The younger woman contemptuously asked from where she stood in the corner, "You don't know your own name?" "Lina…" Aart growled. Lina rolled her eyes and walked out the door. Aart nodded in her direction. "Odelina's my eldest daughter. I love her, but there are times when her mother and I want to drown her."

Children suddenly came rolling out of closets and cabinets and out from under the table as Faran came running into the room screaming, "She's coming! She's coming!" The noise meant that Aart had to yell, "Who's coming?" Faran's answer couldn't be heard. His father hollered, "Everyone quiet! Now who's coming?" "Aunt Vivillia!" The other children chorused, "Oh, Aunt Vivillia."

Moments later, a tall, middle-aged woman pushed open the door. She had a thin face, a hooked nose, and narrow, yellow eyes; she looked like a hawk. Standing up very straight, with her graying hair pulled back in a bun, she had a commanding presence and looked quite formidable. "Ygeme!" she announced. "Come and give me a hug." Ygeme stood and waded through the sea of youngsters to embrace her. "It's good to see you, Viv. But I thought you were coming tomorrow. What happened?" Vivillia's thin mouth grew thinner. "Augusta tried to come calling on me again, so I decided to leave early." Ygeme barely held back a small smile. "You should really put that man out of his misery." "I hope you mean I should kill him, because matrimony is certainly out of the question.

"Speaking of which," Vivillia continued, "How is your's? Are treating my sister well, Aart?" she asked. Aart answered. "Hello, Vivvie. I'm fine, thank you. I hope the day finds you well also. As for Ygeme, if she has any reason for complaints, she's kept them to herself." They exchanged a formal handshake. "The day _does_ find me well, and don't call me Vivvie- you know I hate it." "Aunt Vivillia!" someone below shouted. "Hug me, hug me!" There was soon a mob of children waving their little arms and yelling, "Hug me first!" "No, me first! Me first!"

After everyone had been hugged at least once and shooed away, Vivillia turned her narrow eyes on their previous guest. "And who is this?" "We were just asking her that when you arrived. She was sleeping in the forest when Faran found her, and she just finished breakfast." They stood before one another and fixed each other with a stern stare, trying to sum up the other. After a while, Vivillia asked in her no-nonsense fashion, "What is your name, young woman?" There was no response. "She can't speak, Viv," Aart explained. "We already asked." Vivillia grunted in acknowledgement. She suddenly reached up and tightly pinched the tips of either of the girl's ears between her thumb and forefinger. Her eyes widened and she clenched her teeth. "What are these?" Giving each ear an upward tug, Vivillia asked. "Are they real?" It was an obvious challenge for her to keep her fists at her side, so Aart said, "They haven't come off yet, Viv; I think they're real." Vivillia raised one eyebrow and let go. "Very well, then," she said, walking off. "Where are those children of your's? There's much to be done." Aart also walked out the door saying, "Alright, back to work." The old woman, who had been watching the entire scene, leaned forward and said softly, "Scary, isn't she?" The girl simply stood there with the same expression on her face, tendering rubbing her ears.

Outside, Aart had returned to chopping wood while Lina and several of the older children helped feed the flock of chickens behind the barn. She wandered in their direction and watched for a moment when Vivillia came around the side and said, "Good! You can help too." She was given a basket and steered towards a long row of elevated boxes filled with hay. Hens sat in a few of them. "Gather up the eggs and bring them inside. Don't bother hens, and don't forget to look through the hay piles."

She found herself alone on the other side of the barn, with no one besides a few chickens for company. Looking curiously at the chickens and the basket, she tentatively looked into one the boxes. She discovered six brown eggs lying in the middle. There were four in another. She finished the boxes and was working her way through the stacks of hay when something flew near her face and landed on the ground next to her. It was a chicken larger than the others- the rooster. It stared her a moment before it jumped at her again, trying to spur her with the extra claws on his feet. It would have been too much trouble to put the basket and try to kill him. But one aggravated kick sent him flying halfway across the yard. He staggered off and didn't bother her again.

She brought the eggs into the house and set them on the counter where Ygeme was already making lunch. She had a strange beige blob and was working it with her hands. "One of my children says you kicked our rooster," she said without turning around. The girl stared at her back, waiting for something more to be said. Ygeme turned and grinned. "He's bossy, old thing. He needs a good kick now and then, or he'll think he's in charge.

"Why don't you come help me with these vegetables?" Ygeme handed her a knife and told her to chop the vegetables into coin-sized pieces. "I suppose you heard our conversation about you earlier today?" She nodded. "I'm sorry about what I said. I don't normally think such things about someone I've only recently met, but I'm a bit moody about new situations when I'm with child." They both looked down at her stomach. Sure enough, Ygeme's belly had a maternal bulge. "Aart seems to trust you, so that's good enough for me. He's always been a magnificent judge of character; he can spot trouble on legs just by looking at a man. His father's the same way.

"Xiomar's a good man, but he's also a half-deaf, old codger and Wilda's a jittery little woman. He's not supposed to talk like that, but if he doesn't get bother her by being profane, and she doesn't get to scold him about it, they're not happy."

"And your children think it's hilarious!" A young man was leaning against the doorway, grinning. He was handsome lad, with ruffled hair, a lean, muscular body, and good teeth. "Zayne is Aart's apprentice, practically part of the family. This young woman is our guest for today." Zayne strode forward, bowed slightly, took her hand, and kissed it. She gave him a confused, nearly indignant look and rubbed the back of hand on her trousers. His grin widened. "Nice to meet you." He gave Ygeme a kiss on the cheek. "Hello, there, old mum. I would love to stay and eat your food; but if I don't get moving, Aart will string me up by my toes."

After he left, Ygeme whispered, "He's a terrible flirt. Lina thinks he hung the moon." One of the older children walked by, saying, "Every time he comes by, she gives him this stupid, starry-eyed look." "Baecere," his mother said, exasperated. "It's true!" the boy insisted, pointing through the window. "Look!" "Maybe, but it's none of your business." With that, she shooed him away. Leaning back, it could be seen that Lina, previously sporting a sour expression, had paused in what she was doing and was staring at Zayne with what could only be described as a "stupid, starry-eyed look."

When it came time for lunch, the adults all sat at the table while the children were sent outside to play, though there were frequently at least two underfoot. She tried to make her escape to the lawn, but Aart grabbed her by her hood and said, "Now, there! You're our guest, and you've been helping out all day; I _insist_ that you lunch with us." She was reluctantly seated between Wilda and Zayne, much to the disgust of Lina, who sat opposite him. When Ygeme said that one of dishes had been prepared by her eldest daughter, however, she gave Zayne another look of pathetic adoration.

The meal went rather smoothly until said dish was served and everyone told to enjoy. The girl looked at the large, oddly-shaped objects sitting on her plate and murky broth marinating it as though the last she expected to do with it was "enjoy." Still, she kept the look to herself and took a bite. The fork remained in her mouth for about four seconds before she pulled it back out, food still attached.

Glancing around tentatively, she slowly pulled a knife out of her cloaks and kept it hidden in her lap. The blade's newly shined edge allowed her to see a reflection of what was under the table. She maneuvered it until it rested to where she could see the cat on the floor next to her. Taking careful aim, she raised her foot and brought down sharply on the animal's tail. It made a loud, angry meow and ran out from under the table. Everyone's momentary pause to see what the matter was allowed her to quickly shove the offensive food back onto its serving platter. She hurried through the remainder of her meal and soon vanished out the door.

Later in the evening, after everything had been finished, most of them sat in front of the fire place while half-asleep children were put to bed. Because there was so much to do tomorrow, Zayne opted to sleep in their barn for the night, and was thus present for the rest of the evening. Lina sat near his feet, staring dreamily at him. Vivillia and Ygeme had set themselves to the chore of stitching children's clothes. Aart sat in his chair, smoking his pipe, while Xiomar and Wilda told stories to the older children about life when they were young. He was currently describing the last battle during a long-past war. "I was too young to be in the actual fighting," he nearly shouted. "But I could stand on the battlements and help the men. The bodies would have piled up three times faster hadn't the lads like me been there to replace weapons, get supplies, give them water. You know, our town Asgard had more men and boys in there than any other city. We gave, oh… How many was it now?" She had been staring at the fire and unconsciously raised two fingers. "Ah, right! Two thousand young men! And do you want to know the truly remarkable thing?" He leaned forward and said dramatically, "Not _one_ of them died. Exhausted, yes. Injured, yes. Damn near beaten to a bloody pulp, yes! ("Xiomar!") But not one of those two thousand young men died. The king himself said it was a miracle if there ever was one." He leaned back in his chair and nodded contently while the children "ooh-ed."

Wilda asked, "Why, miss, how did you know it was two thousand men? Not many young people today know that. Did you have a grandfather in the war?" Slightly surprised, she shook her head and tapped herself on the chest. Wilda said, "Oh, but you can't have been there yourself. That was ages ago, long before you were born." She shook her head once and tapped herself again while nodding.

Zayne grinned. "I feel a story coming on." Aart blew out a puff of smoke. "I agree. Why don't you tell about yourself?" He reached around, grabbed a book, and said, "There are scores of maps in this book. Why don't you tell us where you're from?" Everyone glanced at him, then looked at her expectantly.

She hesitated, but took the book and flipped through the pages. She pointed out a long map that spread out across two pages. There were mountains to the north, but beneath was portrayed as utterly desolate, with pictures of fanged monsters and vicious fiends decorating the landscape. The name "MORDOR" was spelled out in large letters across the page.

She showed the book to Aart, pointing to the area just above where the foothills would have been. He smoked his pipe contemplatively. "Mordor, eh? That's plenty far away. Awful place, I've heard, filled with nasty characters." She nodded. He waited, then said, "Go on, then." She spent the next half hour doing what she could to relay her tale to them. Most of the children fell asleep and everyone else eventually left the room, but Aart, Xiomar, and Vivillia stayed, watching her silently tell them of the things she had experienced. As if to prove that she wasn't lying, she showed them the thin, barely visible scars that lined her face and the sword she had with her at the time. When she finally finished, she didn't wait for them to react. She stood and walked outside, settling down behind her tree for the evening.

No one said anything to her about her past life; instead, they treated her like Zayne- as though she were one of them. She grew accustomed to eating Ygeme's food and stepping over children, to Zayne's flirtatious mannerisms, Xiomar's swearing, and Wilda's fussing. She even developed the habit of suddenly running to the other room as soon as some said, "Vivillia's coming!"

The only thing she couldn't get used to was Lina's incessantly obnoxious attitude. The young woman was constantly nagging her about something or other. More often than not, she accused her of trying to "steal" Zayne, though how she could she could steal from Lina what Lina so obviously did not have was open to debate. It was during one afternoon when they were alone at the house that something finally happened about it. "And all that nonsense about sharpening your sword when he's around, I _know_ you do it on purpose! Now he wants you teach him how to fence! But if you dare try anything on him, I don't care what you can do with that stupid thing, I swear I'll take you out behind the house and make you wish you were numb from the brain down!" She was walking in the yard with Lina following her, screeching every step of the way. She wore an expression that said, "I am _extremely_ irritated."

She continued on her way to the water trough and filled up her bucket, then set it down and peered curiously into the bottom. Lina stopped mid-insult and demanded to know what she was staring at. She pointed to the water. Lina rolled her eyes, disgusted, and looked into the trough. She was promptly hit in the back of her knees and forced to the ground while the other girl held her hands behind her back and forced her face in the water. Lina kicked and struggled for some time, but she was held fast. She was about to pass out when the girl lifted her back out of the water and dropped her on her back. Coughing up quarts of water, Lina shrank back when the girl placed her feet on either side of her head and crouched over her. She stared at her for two seconds with a looked that said, "I don't like to be aggravated" before Lina received a sharp tap on her cheek. She walked away and left Lina lying on the ground. Lina didn't bother her anymore.

The baby came soon enough and grew faster than anyone could have imagined. She had been around a handful of infants before, but this one taught her something that she couldn't forget. The child was about eight months old and had just said "Dada" for the first time. She sat and watched with interest as the youngster repeated this new word to itself. When it fell silent, she watched still. Then she opened her mouth and strained. Nothing happened. She closed her mouth and tried harder. A small sound like groaning could be heard, but nothing else. She took another deep breath and tried once more. After a moment, a growl emitted from her throat, not unlike those she had made before. She closed her mouth again and let shoulders sag, secure in the knowledge that everyone's statements had finally been proved true: she could not speak if she tried.

She learned other things as well, bits of information that, while not very useful, were slightly more cheery. She was astonished one day to come in and see Ygeme roasting a carcass over the fire- no one she had ever met before cooked their meat.

Another day, as they sat about watching the autumn leaves blow, Aart reached into the limbs of the tree under which they were sitting and pulled down a red object, giving one to everybody. She looked at her's with complete confusion and glanced back at him as though asking, "What on Middle Earth is this?" Baecere asked, "What's wrong? Don't like it?" When she shrugged, he asked, "Haven't you ever seen an apple before?" She shook her head. Upon the child's instructions, she took a bite and discovered an entirely new item of food.

There was one event from she didn't learn anything, but it made life easier on everyone. She was sitting upstairs, listening to Lina complain to her mother. "I just don't understand," she whined. "Zayne would spend all day with that woman, flirting and talking to her and trying to learn something about a silly piece of metal, but she doesn't even smile at him. But I pay attention to him all day and he never even looks twice at me!" "That's because he likes her, dear." At this, Lina wailed and flopped her head down in her hands. "I don't mean like that. Lina, he just thinks she's interesting. And she is. She can fight the way he wants to, and probably could if his first priorities weren't to your father and to helping this household flourish."

Lina sniffed and asked, "Do you think she likes him?" "No," Ygeme answered. "As a friend, maybe, but not the way you like him." "Why doesn't he like me? Why doesn't he look at me the way boys look at girls or even the way Father looks at you?" "Like what?" "Like you're something important." Ygeme cradled Lina's head next to her chest. "Oh, Odelina, you _are_ something important. You're beautiful and intelligent. And you can be quite kind when you want to be, I know, I've seen it." Lina gulped and asked, "How do I get Zayne to see it? I'm doing everything I can to make him like me." "Maybe not everything." "What?"

Ygeme said it as clearly as she could. "Don't act like the world is such a bothersome place all the time. People can tell when you're in a bad mood, and they'll avoid you. So just try being a happier person- it will attract others, and make you seem more attractive." Ygeme smiled. "The way a girl is to a boy."

Lina had hardly every listened to a word any of her authority figures said, but something about this must have struck true. The next day, when Zayne and Aart arrived for lunch, she came over with a jug of cool wine. "I just pulled it out the stream," she said. "It cools best there, as long as it doesn't get dragged downstream." Aart said grinning, "You're in a good mood. Did we miss something wonderful?" "Oh, no," she said, serving her father first. "Just feeling happy today." She poured some into Zayne's goblet. He thanked her, took a sip, and grinned. "Delicious." She smiled at him and went back to what she was doing. She wasn't unattractive when she smiled. This continued for days, weeks, and months. The idea obviously worked, because they were all present several years later when Lina and Zayne were married. Vivillia said that even if she herself ever gained a husband, she still couldn't have been more pleased.

The place was a fine one to be. The people were friendly, the surroundings calm, and the pace slow. But once again, she would find herself sitting on the new fence, watching the sun go down and staring longingly into the distance. She had never stayed in one spot for very long, and it wasn't her nature to linger. So one day, she packed up what few things she owned and gathered a bundle of food. Aart saw her and asked quietly, "Are you leaving us then?" She nodded and went on with her activity. "At least wait until morning," he said. "Ygeme won't want you to leave without more to eat than that." Ygeme did demand that she at least take a leg of lamb and a loaf of bread. She accepted but didn't seem to understand the cause of all the fuss.

Early the next morning, when Aart was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, she took up her bag and started walking in the direction she had originally been headed. She didn't stop to look back, but she did pause at the edge of the woods. She had crossed most of the flatland and the sun was almost up. Aart would soon begin his work for the day. Zayne might come and assist him. People who knew her and didn't hate her or want to hurt her would be wondering where she had gone. It had been a fine place to spend the last few years, maybe to spend a lifetime. But that just wasn't her. She walked through the trees and plunged herself back into a world of uncertainty.


	20. Her story: AND HUNS, OH MY!

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.  
I got a review from Jennifer- chapter 17 was rather gruesome, wasn't it? Besides a few more wars, she didn't have as much human interaction in the succeeding years. But the characters she did met were intriguing.  
In a field near a brook, a little girl with long, red hair taught her to make flower chains and to catch butterflies and ladybugs.  
Near a stream filled with bass, an old blind man and his servant, a Moor, taught her to catch fish by standing very still in the water until one swam between her hands. To her almost joy, he also gave her several large books, which she read with fascination.  
She one day happened upon a young man sitting by himself in a clearing. When he saw her, he smiled, but nothing more. Because it was early in the day and she had only recently awoken, she yawned and stretched, catlike. He made a noise and his eyes widened. She looked and saw him gesturing to his teeth. She cocked her head to the side, confused. He tapped his canines and pointed to her. She tongued her oblong teeth and asked with her eyes, "What?" He made several gestures in the air and she looked even more confused. He tried again, to no avail.  
Finally, frustrated, he said slowly and with great difficulty, "I'mb… theaf…" Her eyes widened with realization and she pointed to her ears. He shook his head. She nodded and tapped her lips. His brows rose and he mimicked her. She shook her head.  
He took her hand, excited, and hurried with her down the path. They soon met a young woman, about the same age. The man grabbed her hand and pressed several gestures into her palm. She didn't look at him, but reached out blindly and felt in front of herself. He took both girls' hands and put them together. This new girl grasped her hand, placed the other on her cheek, and smiled. "Hello, miss. My name is Xandra, and this is Cadman. He tells me you can't speak." Xandra's hand followed while the girl shook her head. "Amazing," she said. "I'm blind." She grinned wryly. "Aren't we quite the trio?  
"Have you a name?" She paused, but nodded her head. "What is it?" There was no response. "Can you write it on paper?" No. "Can you sign it? With your hands?" No. "Oh, dear. Haven't you ever been taught to sign?" No. "That's awful," she said sadly. No response. Xandra squeezed her hand. "You have very cold, rough hands. And hard features," she added, feeling her face. She smiled again, commenting, "Cadman says he likes your teeth. May I…?" She opened her mouth and let Xandra feel the elongated teeth. "Ooh, fangs."  
Xandra and Cadman led her to a village populated almost entirely by people like them. They were deaf or blind or mute or mentally ill, or even just a bit slow. There were people who had recently lost limbs and were learning to do without them. Xandra said this place was called Broken, because of how many on "the outside world" considered its inhabitants. Here, she said, was an ideal little town, tucked away from the world, where anyone with any kind of handicap could come. They could learn to function as well as anyone, sometimes well enough that they would decide to leave and live their own lives.  
There were a few "normal" ones, people who lived in the city and helped those that needed extra attention. They were family members, anyone with especially good intentions, and even a few elves. The humans welcomed her with no problems whatsoever, but the elves were a slightly different matter. She had only ever encountered elves when she was trying to kill them, so she had difficulty accepting that she might be living peacefully with even a handful. And they didn't quite seem to trust her either.   
Xandra and Cadman, however, became her near constant companions. They slowly taught her to "sign," a way for one such as herself or Cadman to communicate. She was a diligent student and was soon able to sign as well as anyone else.  
As an experiment, she and her two companions taught each other to think the way the other did. She and Cadman were blindfolded, Xandra wasn't allowed to speak, and both girls had their ears covered until they couldn't hear. They would spend a week in their hindered state. What senses they already had would improve, so much so that she would often relive the experience while practicing her fencing or sparring, simply to heighten her abilities.  
There were only two elves she didn't eye with suspicion or watch from the corner of her eye. One was an older lady and the other her grandson. Both had long blonde hair and blue eyes. Elemmírë often worked with the deaf or mute, while her grandchild Aerandir assisted the blind. Aerandir often practiced fencing with her.  
Elemmírë approached her one day and told her to walk with her. Because of her commanding presence or for lack of anything better to do, she followed. Elemmírë informed her that from the time she had arrived, she had watched her. There was something different about her, save the obvious. And she suspected that she knew what it was. She didn't say anything for several moments, but turned to look at her where she had stopped a few paces behind. They stared at each other intently. Finally Elemmírë spoke. "If you like, I will teach you. You have the discipline to learn. I am willing to overlook your past, only because I believe that anyone can change for the better. What think you?" She stared at the ground for a while as though running over the proposition in her mind. Finally, she looked up at the elf Lady and nodded.  
They spent many sessions sitting before each other in silence. She only spoke on occasion, repeating that she was doing well, but still needed to focus. At the end of every session, she would remind her not to tell anyone. This left Xandra very curious. "Oh, do tell me what the Lady is teaching you." She kept walking, but pressed a sign into her hand. Xandra balked. "I am _not_ meddlesome!" Cadman pressed a few signs into her hand. "Oh, wonderful. Take her side, then. You are becoming too good at reading lips!"  
Xandra was late for her lesson with Aerandir, so she didn't press the matter. Xandra enjoyed Aerandir's company immensely and said that it was a blessing for anyone blind to an elf teaching them to improve their hearing. That particular evening, her session lasted past dinner. Most of Xandra's other friends were unperturbed. But when it was almost time to retire for the day and she still hadn't returned, a few began to wonder where she was. They went looking for her near the town well, where Aerandir normally taught, but they were nowhere nearby. Cadman became worried, and they went in opposite directions.  
Ten minutes later, having seen no clue as to where Xandra was, and probably cursing the fact that she couldn't call out her name, she paused near the woods. As quietly as possible, she crept to the forest's edge and walked around one of the trees. She found Xandra and Aerandir standing behind the trunk, too absorbed in kissing each other to notice her arrival. She watched calmly until he saw her out of the corner of his eye and stopped, his face pale. "What?" she asked. He didn't respond, but squeezed her hand. Her lips thinned. "Oh, dear…" she murmured. The girl glanced at one, then at the other. Then she looked up as though rolling her eyes and walked away.  
Later that evening, Xandra came to her and said, "It was you, wasn't it?" She placed Xandra's hand on her face and nodded. Xandra was silent for a moment before she said, "I won't ask if you don't tell." She nodded again. Xandra stopped inquiring about Elemmírë, and no one learned why Xandra was always late. Just to be certain, however, Aerandir had his brother forge a unique sword for her, one without a hilt. It was put to good use during her constant practice.   
Finally surrounded by people who knew her past and liked her anyway, by people who understood, she might have stayed in Broken. Little did she know of the series of disappointments that would follow.  
They were told one morning that they needed to evacuate- a terrible storm had been ravaging the west and was coming their way. The day was bright and the weather fine, so few people believed that something so disastrous would be there before a day's time. But some of them agreed that they should leave immediately. "We.. should… leave," a retarded man, Daegal, insisted. "You've been saying that since yesterday," his "normal" sister said. "We didn't even know anything was wrong then."  
"We'll be fine," said a man with no legs from knees down. "Look around you; you couldn't ask for a more perfect day. "He's right," added another. "No! Leave… now!" "I agree with Daegal," commented another man, also blind.  
The girl and Xandra were listening from the side. Elemmírë and Aerandir were standing off, looking at the sky and the forest. The elf Lady murmured to no one in particular, "Daegal has always known the ways of nature- not an uncommon trait among those in his condition. And the earth provides its own ways of warning us, if we only know how to recognize the signals." Turning to her, she said, "Listen carefully. What is the earth telling you?"  
Eyebrows furrowed, the girl listened carefully. Slowly, her eyes widened slightly. She grabbed Xandra's hand and brought to her ears. Xandra tried to listen, but the sounds of arguing grew. Finally, she turned and said loudly, "Stop!" Everyone suddenly fell silent and turned to look at her. She and Xandra listened carefully. After a moment, she pressed two signs into Xandra's palm. "She's right…" she murmured. "About what?" someone asked. Turning towards them, she whispered, "Where are the birds?" Everyone listened and found that she was right; it was a lovely morning, not even noon, and not a singly chirp could be heard. As if to erase any doubts they might have, the sky darkened and the wind blew ominously. "Leave… now…" Daegal repeated.  
This time they listened. People began loading up carts with whatever they needed and slowly began leaving the town. The weather quickly turned nasty as the clouds became gray, the wind howled, and the air chilled. The citizens started hurrying in their quest to vacate the area when it started to rain. The rain came down cold and hard. It was three in the afternoon when the thunder came. It was nearly four when lightning struck one of the trees, splitting it in half and singing most of branches.  
She and Cadman were ready to leave. But Aerandir had opted to stay behind and help Elemmírë get everyone out, and Xandra refused to leave without him. "Go ahead without me," she said. "Help everyone find refuge at Fuinur. You can do that, they'll listen to you. Aerandir needs my support here. Go on," she encouraged. "Take Cadman and go." Eventually, she nodded.  
Xandra squeezed her hand, then took her in a fierce hug. She stood there awkwardly in the torrents of rain. Having never before hugged anyone, she stiffly wrapped her arms around Xandra and patted her on the back. "I wish I could see you," Xandra whispered into her ear. Xandra finally released her and repeated the process with Cadman, pressing signs into his hand and hugging him as well. Cadman sat in the back of the cart with many others while she took one of the few horses and led the wagon train out of town.  
They traveled the rest of the day and most of the night, never stopping, before they reached Fuinur. The city was too far south for the storm to affect them, and was filling with people in need of refuge. When she was sure everyone was safe, she turned around and went back for everyone else.  
The wind was strong, the rain was sharp, and the sky was black. It was difficult to navigate through the woods. A few hours into the journey, the thunder cracked. Her horse reared up and threw her off. A tree branch was twisted off its trunk and fell from above her as she landed on her back.  
When she awoke, the sky was gray and the ground was wet. She sat up slowly, clutching her head and pulling her arm out from where the limb had fallen on it. There was a long, deep cut in her forearm, and the smeared blood was dark and sticky. Binding the wound with a strip from one of her cloaks, she looked around and saw that the land was a mess. More branches and puddles scattered the ground. She found a rabbit that had been caught by its neck in the crook of a tree and began eating. Unable to get her bearings, she began wandering hopelessly in one direction.  
The devastation lasted for miles and it was more than four days of stumbling around the countryside before anything looked untouched. She seemed dazed and slightly delirious because the entire experience was foggy and out of focus. Her arm swelled and turned a pale shade of green. She couldn't sleep and often broke out in a sweat. After more than two weeks, she paused near a stream and leaned against a tree. She panted, coughed, then leaned across a boulder and began to retch. When she had finished vomiting, she lay down next to the water and drank deeply.  
She lay on the ground gasping, then took out a long knife. Unwrapping her arm, she tied the band above her elbow and reopened the crevice in her arm. She clenched her teeth while she pushed from her elbow towards the cut. Strange, white liquid-like matter came pouring from her arm. She pushed again and again until nothing more than blood came. She rewrapped the wound and passed out with her arm floating in the water.  
She woke up later to find minnows hovering near her hand in the water, nibbling on the skin from her fingertips. She had lost some of the green tint in her skin, but it was a long time before it returned to normal. She checked her arm regularly and often repeated the process, until the infection had been completely eradicated. Her fever went down and she slowly nursed herself back to health.  
It was perhaps during this time that she decided mankind was a nuisance, because she immediately took up her old ways of wandering from place to place, never associating with anyone. For many years, she lived mostly on the outskirts of the woods, watching the world turn and the seasons change.  
She one day from her hiding place in a tree witnessed a large gathering near a village. It looked like a wedding, but something was wrong. The only matrimonial services she had ever witnessed involved laughter, smiles, and tears of joy. This had all the fixings for a wedding, but the young man was stony-faced, the guests looked as though they didn't know what to do, and the only person crying was the bride, and for anything but joy. Her sobbing grew louder when she stood next to her soon-to-be husband, who looked similarly miserable.  
In the middle of the ceremony, the priest said, "I beg your pardon?" The groom repeated in frustrated tones, "Why are we doing this? I don't love her, and she wants nothing to do with me." The crowd looked as though they agreed, but priest said nervously, "But you've only just met. How do you know she doesn't like you?" The young man turned to his blubbering bride, smiled, and said conversationally, "Milady? Do you not look forward to being my wife and to bearing my children?" The bawls that followed were louder than ever. "You're right!" The young man had to shout to be heard. "If she hasn't threatened to cut her throat, she must be smitten!"  
An angry man came out of the crowd. "That's enough. And stop you're wailing, you puling little wench!" The young man turned and shouted back, "No, Father. You can't make me do this! I don't want to marry the girl, I don't even know her name!" The man yelled, "It's Jinira, and you will marry her!" "My name is Jirina!" she sobbed. "Shut up!" the father shouted. "You shut up!" his son screamed.  
Grabbing his son and weeping future in-law by their arms, he turned them towards the priest and said, "Get to the important part." Afraid, the man said hurriedly, "Do you, Johfrit Finrod, take this woman, Jin- sorry, Jirina of Stendhal, to be your wife?" "Say yes" came the order. "No," Johfrit said, yanking himself out of his father's grasp. The elder man growled. "Too much depends on this union for you to not go through with it." "I don't care what kind of deal you have with her father, I won't do it."  
"Oh, you'd rather have this girl, eh?" The man pulled a young woman from the crowd. She too looked quite unhappy. "Yes," the son said. "Yes, I would have her for my wife." "I would have you for my husband," she said. The crowd murmured in agreement. The father glared. "But you won't have her."  
He pressed her back to his chest, put one arm around her neck, and held a dagger to her throat. Johfrit froze. "And neither will anyone else, unless you break that iron will and do as I command." "Father, please," the young man said. His father tightened his grip and ordered, "Do it." The dagger's edge was starting to pierce the girl's skin, and a small stream of blood was running down her throat. Tears of anger and frustration pooled in Johfrit's eyes. "I hate you," he said earnestly. "I don't care," his father said.  
Johfrit stared hopelessly at the woman he really loved before saying, "I do." Turning to face the priest, he added, "Take her to be my wife, that is." Looking as though he wished he were anywhere else, the priest asked, "And do you, Jirina of Stendhal, take this man, Johfrit Finrod, to be your husband?" The tears came silently as she spoke. "Very well." Reluctantly, the priest said, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may comfort the bride." The party dispelled with the father smirking smugly, the guests glancing back at the young "couple" with pity, and with the dejected lover sitting alone on a tree stump, quietly sobbing.  
Several unhappy memories late, one of the worse events happened. She was temporarily living in a farmer's barn. The farmer's family consisted of his wife, sons, one daughter, and that daughter's husband. They were quite boring, but relatively pleasant. The farmer was another matter entirely; he was a mean, surly man who drank too much and had no respect for anyone. His wife and children lived in fear of his temper. He insulted and belittled everyone in sight, threatened them constantly, and his wife and sons frequently had their faces, torsos, and backs covered in bruises. At night, everyone could hear his shouts and her crying and screams of pain. Everyone knew, but no one said anything.  
Because he never would have stood for allowing a vagabond inside the house, she had to sleep in the barn with the animals. The horses and a few cows that also lived there became anxious whenever she came inside. One night, they were particularly loud, and as she was sitting in her corner, ready to close her eyes, he suddenly opened the barn doors. He stalked over, slapped her roughly, and shouted "Quit making them animals squawk!" before leaving. The attack was entirely unprovoked, so she might normally have gone after him and slit his throat. But she had lived among the peaceful for so long and she was surprised enough that instead she stood there and listened while his footsteps faded.

On the day she was set to leave, she was standing at the Dutch door while the daughter handed her food. Her father came out, ready to plow more fields. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked her angrily. "She's leaving," she answered. "That's not what I asked!" he rumbled.

Walking over he slapped her against the wall, forcing her to drop what she had, and screamed in her face, "I don't work so you can give away the food I provide! It's here for your _lousy_ husband, for your _pitiful_ brothers, for your _stupid_ mother and most of all, it's here for **me**- so _I_ can eat it!" Shrinking away, she whimpered, "But she said it was alright, she checked and-" Suddenly very quiet and livid, he said, "Who did?" She flicked her eyes over toward her mother who was standing in the corridor.

"Was it you?" he screamed. Swinging his wife around, he punched her, furious. "You ever do anything like that again, I'll kill yah!" He picked up his hat and left, red-faced and glaring. His sons helped lift their mother off the floor while his daughter stooped to pick up the scattered breads and shattered bowl with trembling hands. Her husband came by and helped her at first, but held her instead when she buried her face in his chest and started to shake. "Don't be angry with your father," the mother was murmuring. "He works hard to do good things for us, and he's just tired."

She was probably pondering this while she waked across the unplowed field because she almost didn't notice that she was going in the opposite direction as the farmer. She did notice, however, when the horse reared up, neighed loudly, and ran began running in the other direction, dragging the plow with him. Screaming at the horse to stop, to come back, the farmer turned on her wildly and ran at her. "You ran off mah horse, yah ugly little-" He didn't say whatever he was going to say because when he cranked back his fist to hit her, she swerved to one side and elbowed him in the back of his neck. He landed face first in the dirt, but was up again, enraged. He tried once more to hurt her, but she took a long dagger out of her boot and forced it up to its hilt into his abdomen. He doubled over, looked down at what she had done, stumbled a bit, then collapsed.

His wife and two of the sons had just run up to see what happened as she turned him over and removed her weapon. "Dead," one of them whispered to the other as she sheathed the blade. She straightened up just in time for the new widow to slap her angrily across the face. Her head didn't even swing, and she looked back at the woman who had taken worse beatings from her own husband. Staring at her with a look of confused helplessness, the woman slapped her again and then again. The other just stood there and took it, staring back at her. Only when one son held his mother back did she begin crying piteously. The other turned and went on her way.

What was perhaps the greatest disappointment of all came after she was really just trying to maneuver her way through the forest. She had been on the move, having seen no one for the past few days, when for no apparent reason, she suddenly stopped where she was. She didn't move but her eyes roved the area. She turned and drew her sword, stopping the one that had almost cut her twain. The man holding swung again in another direction. They fenced until they knocked the weapons from each others hands and they had to grapple. She was small and quick with strong hands, but he was stronger. He soon pinned her to the ground and began to strangle her. "Guerilla bitch!" he hissed. "Ungrateful traitor!" He continued to growl at her but his insults were little more than muffled sounds as her vision began to blur and her hearing faded. The memory was beginning to grow hazy and almost black when it suddenly cleared. Gasping for air and coughing, she heaved until looking up to see a long spear hovering in front of her face. Several men were standing around her. Said the one holding the spear, "You're welcome."

She and her attacker were blindfolded and taken to a camp near the forest's edge. While she was quite used to being captured and roughed up a bit, she was not used to being captured and given food and a seat near a fire. But that's what happened.

Her hands remained bound while the man who had spoken to her before tossed her a piece of raw meat. He was an older man who spoke to his companions in a language that was not the Common Tongue, but for some reason sounded familiar. The people looked familiar too. They were rather tall, with slightly dusky skin and dark hair, and their eyes had small creases in the corners.

The man skipped all formalities, seating himself in front of her and saying in Westron, "Alright. Who are you, and who's side are you on?" She stared at him as she had so many others. Getting right in her face, he said in serious tones, "Unless you've got no tongue, you'd better answer me." He was obviously quite sincere about it, so she tapped her lips and shook her head. Looking as though he didn't believe her, he said sarcastically, "Oh, you can't speak?"

Another man came over and spoke to her inquisitor in the same foreign tongue. She quizzically watched them commute.

Before the two men left, they glanced curiously at her. Others were doing the same. Some feet away, the older man was standing outside a tent, looking at her and scratching his chin, muttering, "_Where_ do I know her?" He was interrupted when a third man stepped out of the tent. They spoke briefly before striding over to see her. The third man stood over her and watched her sternly.

If nothing more could be said of this severe man, he radiated authority. He was very tall and muscular, with a strong jaw and sea green eyes; everything about him seemed to _demand_ respect.

Even his tone was commanding as he spoke to her. Her brows furrowed a bit, trying to comprehend what he was saying. The elder man translated, "He says that if you want to live to see tomorrow, you must tell who you are and where your loyalties lie." Leaning forward, he added, "And I would listen if I were you. No khan has ever been one to not keep his word. Especially a descendent of Tolya the Great."

Her eyes suddenly widened in realization. Hands still bound, she took a branch from the ground and began to drag it in the dirt. The men leaned over and saw that she had made a crude sketch. It was the henna tattoo that had appeared overnight on her arm centuries, possibly millenniums earlier.

Suddenly the elder man slapped the ground. "_That's_ where I recognize you!" He spoke in rushed, excited tones to his superior, who then gave her a look of doubting and muttered something that strangely resembled "impossible." Turning to her again, the older man asked in a low voice, "What would you do if I were to tell you that we are going to set off fireworks tonight?" She grimaced. He grinned like a child who has just discovered something he shouldn't. "It _is_ you, isn't it?"

After much effort, it was discovered that the older man, called Duncan, and this rabble were the descendents of the Normans and Kolenka's people. The language spoken by most of them was a branch of Altaic, so she had a vague understanding of what they were saying.

She was later led to a cave where the walls were covered with what looked like ancient drawings and many characters similar to the one she had sketched. One picture featured a person with snow white skin, a sword, and fire in their hair, battling alongside the other warriors. The character was shown once more near what looked like fireworks, this time facing the opposite direction as all the others. The khan, Lazlo, who was indeed of the same blood as Kolenka and Tolya, said that he didn't care who she was, as long as she was an enemy of Yrre. After learning that the man who had attacked her was one of Yrre's henchmen, she quickly decided this Yrre person was her foe.

It was with good reason that Lazlo and his "tribe" hated Yrre. For centuries, their people had continued to live the lives of warriors, honing their skills as horsemen-archers and often working as mercenaries, though they never lost their roles as the national hit-and-run raiders. They had long ago conquered all the land they wanted and now only occasionally waged war on each other. Plenty still ate raw meat. Some even lived, almost, peacefully. But in the past few decades, another, an outsider, had entered their midst. He came with ideas previously unpracticed; it resulted in a new separation of classes, one in which it was a man's riches that made them great, not his talent. To a people that believed their gods would bless them with a place in heaven if they lived the life of a proper warrior and went down in battle, this thought was positively sacrilege, but it quickly caught on. The chasm between the people soon grew, and they were quickly divided in what they believed was better. Many who had previously called their neighbor friend were now, because of their lack, despised by those who had been their brothers-in-arms.

No longer familiar with the ways of their ancestors, a great deal of the people had grown rich, greedy, and slothful, and it was these that supported the new leader and eventually appointed him king. Now anyone who promoted the old ways of living without the riches and existing in what was a happy, if hectic, life was called an anarchist and quickly silenced. The people were taxed beyond reason, the new militia had free run of the country, and the new king had become a tyrant. Lazlo and his band were the last of those trained as fighters, and they were determined to right that which Yrre had done wrong.

Because all that remained to fight against Yrre were peasants and rebels, the task was anything but easy. But Lazlo, marvelous warrior that he was, was similarly wise in the ways of politics. He knew how to understand people, how to command their respect, and how to get them to do what he wanted. He had thus far gathered supporters in every town and village in the country and could rally them to his aid if needed. After all, Duncan later said, the easiest way to unite a people is to give them something to hate, and that Lazlo had done. He was one of the few people in her life she came to look upon with respect.

Among his closest companions, and those she saw most often, were Duncan, Marl, and Jicksum. Duncan, as Lazlo's most trusted vizier, had the most trying task of seeing to it that Lazlo's sons were protected. Already aware that he was fighting a losing battle, Lazlo had taken precautions to have as many sons as possible and snuck each of them out of the country to be raised by someone who would help them understand who they were, where they came from, and what they should do with that knowledge.

Marl and Jicksum were an unlikely pair. Marl was very stocky, very simple-minded, and in battle, very wild, obviously of the same lot as the Norman berserkers. Jix, as she was frequently called, was rather tall, with lean muscles, blue, doe-like eyes and no feminine curves whatsoever. Her long, dark brown hair was braided tight and away from her face, then allowed to hang in tangles down her back. A hothead, she too loved the thrill of battle, and it was a favorite saying of Duncan's that, had she been born a redhead, her attitude would have matched her hair. Marl and Jix shared a tent, and no one ever questioned it.

There were not a few battles to be fought, but one event stood out clearly. She was riding in the thick of battle when her horse reared up and threw her. She landed on a pile of bodies and weapons. Her first instinct was to wince and try to rise, but she was somehow stuck. She looked and saw that her left thigh had been impaled by an upturned sword. A mixture of horror and shock covered her face. She was pinned, and only after the battle had been won did Lazlo, Duncan, and Marl come to investigate.

Clenching her teeth, she rolled slightly to one side and let Duncan get a closer look. "The blade is bent below you," he said. "We'll have to break it and remove you from up here." Promptly following this, Marl raised a mace above his head and swung. She made a kind of growling scream as the blade shattered and she was pulled off.

She spent the next few days lying on her back in a tent. She sweated and was burning hot to the touch, but she shivered and her teeth chattered. She fazed in and out of consciousness, and once overheard Duncan saying to Lazlo, "A piece of the blade's broken off in her. Either we remove the metal or we remove the leg."

She awoke when someone opened her lips and placed the blunt edge of a knife between her teeth. Duncan was cutting awake the leg of her trousers while Jix gently pressed down on her shoulders. "A luxury for a lady," she remarked. She had to close her eyes when Duncan brought out a variety of knives and turned to her leg. She whimpered a little, bit down on the knife and balled her fists, trying not to squirm while Duncan worked. Finally, Jix took the knife from her mouth and she panted. Dabbing at her brow, Duncan whispered, "Very good." She recovered quickly and never rode a horse again.

The man who supplied Yrre's army was to be assassinated. She and Jix were called on to do the job. Disguising herself, Jicksum would say to her, "Don't march like that- you look like a common foot soldier. You almost have to slink like a cat. And put on more cosmetics and jewelry! It'll disguise your face, and they'll think it's your chains clinking, not your blade."

After a disguised Duncan had delivered them and presented them as gifts from Yrre, the two veiled women were escorted to their victim, who quickly sent everyone else from the room. Giving him soft touches and loving looks, Jix finally held his face gently in her hands and kissed him. He was a very fat, dirty-looking man, so it couldn't have been pleasant. But it allowed her partner to reveal a long blade and push it into his gut. His moans and gasps never made it past Jix's lips, and his fat enveloped the sword, hilt and all. They were able to escape before anyone discovered them, and were toasted as heroes when they returned. There was a small party arranged to celebrate this minute, but vital victory. Lazlo and Duncan spoke to her animatedly on how hopeful they were that they would soon eliminate any of Yrre's opportunities to seek outside help while at the same time introducing her to pipe weed. She took a single puff, gagged, and refused any more. Jix and Marl spent the remainder of the evening wrapped around each other like a pair of snakes.

Several days later, a messenger came. "Yrre's forces are attacking the villages to the north. Everyone's being slaughtered." Lazlo was furious, but said there would be nothing they could do by the time they arrived. At this, Jix lost her temper, as she often did, and immediately led a score of fellow rebels with her to stop them. "Jix. Jicksum!" Lazlo called after her, but she urged her horse onward, the messenger leading the way. Frustrated, Lazlo and several others rushed after her.

They followed the trail for half an hour before stopping suddenly. They were nowhere near any of the villages, but the scene was littered with the dead bodies of Lazlo's men. "An ambush," Duncan said. "Jix!" Marl called. "Jicksum, where are you?" They scoured the area for a few moments before Lazlo looked around a large section of trees and boulders. He stopped and a pained look came over him. "Oh, Jix…" Duncan followed, but soon came back, ashen-faced. She tried to get around him, but he held her back. "Don't go over there, little Siny." Marl ran over as Lazlo came back. "Where is she?" Marl asked. "Marl, don't." Lazlo tried to stop him, but Marl protested and shouted until he broke past and saw what lay past the corner. He froze, gripped his fists, and screamed through his teeth, falling over and heaving through dry sobs.

Jix and the other men were burned on individual pyres. Jix was covered with a cloth to prevent anyone from having to see her. Marl wasn't there.

Finally, they were to leave for a final battle. Lazlo stood above them and spoke. "Sons of the North, hear me! Today, we fight. But we do not fight as our adversary, for power and for riches. Our's is the far greater goal. Honor, freedom; that is our cause. And though we are outnumbered, and though our enemies will be fierce, we have a heart for what we do, we believe in something better. Friends, brothers. Rise up and stand!" The men hurrahed and set out.

They stood perched on the battlefield, staring their enemies in the face. One of the men on the other side was the "messenger" that had lured Lazlo's men to their deaths. "So good to see you again, traitors," he called. "What happens to you before the day is up will not be good," Lazlo answered calmly. "We do not think well of those who would trade their heritage for gold." The "messenger" leered. "Your lady friend didn't seem to mind us." Marl visibly quivered.

They launched themselves into battle almost immediately. What Lazlo had said was true: their enemies fought with vigor, and the losses would not be few. But another thing was clear: Lazlo and the Men of the North fought with a fire that could not die. They fought for everything they had and could hope to have, for a way of life that meant everything to them.

After only a few minutes of fighting, however, something very strange happened; something that had happened only once, many millennia ago. She suddenly paused and her eyes went out of focus. She came back just as a fist came swinging at her.

She woke up much later, hours later if the sky was anything to go by. She stood shakily and tried to understand what had happened. Corpses lay scattered the ground. Only two men still stood. It was Lazlo and a man from his tribe. They were facing away from her, watching the new wave of soldiers that was coming in from the distance. She stumbled back, then turned and ran behind a tree at the forest's edge. The new enemy was nearly upon them. Lazlo and his sole aide stood in a fighting stance and gave one last war cry before they were seized and slaughtered.

She ran. Ran into the wood. Ran past all the carnage. Ran past the tents that still stood, waiting for occupants that would never return. Ran until she came to the cave where she had been identified. Crouching inside, she panted, then saw her picture on the wall. She stared at it for a moment before taking a large rock and smashing it into the wall. She did this until all trace of her presence with Kolenka's people had been lost forever. Then she ran some more.

For many weeks, she hid in the cave. She spent many a night staring at the small fire she had built, a passive look on her face. One night, she took a branch and wrote on the ground in the large, wobbly writing of a child, "COWARD." The next day, she rose and began to walk out, shedding the various weapons she had on her person. Small daggers and long dirks left a trail behind her. She had her hand on the hole-like hilt of her sword when she released it. It alone remained.

The next few centuries were spent in hiding from the world. She lived in the thickest regions of the woods and slowly became more animalistic, abandoning any civilized trait she had ever adopted. She continued to be jerked from reality from time to time, and would stare into space as though unaware of the world around her. She was one struck with a sudden sharp pain in her shoulder. Several days later, it happened again, in her head. Many months following, the pause took on a new form. As though watching through the eyes of another, a vision of a great, black tower took form in her mind. It was crumbling, the fiery eye atop it watching its support fall. Like it had so long ago, the fog was suddenly sucked into that one spot, then shot through the air. The strange pauses stopped thereafter.

She continued to drift through the woods, occasionally catching a glimpse of society, but never rejoining it. She clung to the forest, to the trees; until one day, while watching a unique party of men, a wizard, a dwarf, and an elf in the forest. The elf suddenly shot an arrow in her direction. Then the dream of memories ended and all was black.

A/N: Obviously I don't own any Green Day songs either, but I just thought that the lyrics went perfectly with the character.  
_I walk a lonely road   
The only one that I have ever known  
Don't know where it goes,  
But it's home to me, and I walk alone.  
I walk this empty street  
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams  
Where the city sleeps  
and I'm the only one and I walk alone  
I walk alone, I walk alone  
I walk alone, I walk a-  
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me  
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating  
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me  
Till then I walk alone  
I'm walking down the line  
That divides me somewhere in my mind  
On the border line  
Of the edge and where I walk alone  
Read between the lines  
What's ed up and everything's alright  
Check my vital signs  
To know I'm still alive and I walk alone  
I walk alone, I walk alone  
I walk alone, I walk a-  
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me   
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating  
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me  
Till then I walk alone  
I walk alone, I walk a...  
(long instrumental solo)  
I walk this empty street  
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams  
Where the city sleeps  
And I'm the only one and I walk a...  
My shadow's the only one that walks beside me  
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating  
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me   
Till then I walk alone...  
(even longer instrumental solo, depending on which radio station you're listening to)_


	21. The end of the journey

Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.  
Thanks for the great review from Insane Elvish Vampire Pirate And The Demented Hobbit Ninja. No, it's not the end of the story; just of the flashback sequence (otherwise this chapter wouldn't be here). Don't worry, we all have our idiotic moments! Teinesamoa gave us another review, for which we are _so_ grateful.

"I've never seen so much death in one place." "That was awful." "Explains quite a bit, doesn't it?" These were a few of the comments exchanged the next morning.

"But what is she, really?" asked one man while he sat with his companions. "How do you reject every decent impulse you've ever had?" Said another, "How else, but to have your humanity beaten from you? From what I recall, she never had a chance." "But she came so close," added a third. "Where would that leave one now?"

Finally unable to stand it any longer, Frodo arose from where he had been listening to the conversation. He stormed down to the brook, where she sat alone, as always, splashing water in her face and refilling her canteen. Crouching down beside her, the hobbit said in almost demanding tones, "It's true, isn't it? The dream we all had, everything you saw and did. It was real, wasn't it?"

She turned back to what she was doing, but he grabbed her wrist and forced her to look at him. She snatched her wrist away, giving him an angry, almost indignant look, and he remembered that she had killed others for less. But she instead furrowed her brows and stared at him as though considering him for the first time.

Still staring at him, she calmly doffed her cloaks. She then took Frodo's hand and slid it up the back of her jerkin. He at first felt rather nervous, not knowing what her intentions were. But then his fingertips came into contact with many ridges on her skin. His hand drifted upward, feeling the scars from where she had been scourged. Somewhere near her shoulder blades, the skin felt thick and considerably more ravaged, and there were two distinct depressions in the skin. She slid her fingers through the neck of his shirt and felt the wound in his shoulder. They looked at each other with a quiet understanding before keeping their hands to themselves.

Aragorn was at a loss as to what to do. He had been willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, but this was simply too much. Dreams like that _did_ happen for a reason. Half the camp already mistrusted her and would probably want him to do something about it. He had too much to focus on as it was without people's complaints.

He voiced these concerns to Faramir and Gandalf, but it was actually Pippin who solved the problem. After hearing similar thoughts come from Merry, Pip turned away from his cousin and asked her simply, "Are you against us?" She shook her head without looking up from what she was doing. Pippin said sweetly, "That sounds good enough for me." Aragorn heard about this and decided to just let it be. Anyone who had a problem with his decision would have to keep it to themselves or produce a better solution.

After two hours or so, they arrived at their rendezvous, a large town called Peada. The remainder of the army had not yet arrived, so they were free to rest themselves a bit. Faramir was trying to convince the young man who owned the nearest pub that they could all pay for their food and drink when said owner noticed Aragorn talking to Gandalf. Turning to see him fully, the man said, "Strider?" Aragorn's eyes widened. "Lange?" Both men began to grin madly and caught each other in a fierce hug. When they released each other, Aragorn asked, "Lange, why are you here?" He answered, "I live here now. I've kept the pub since my wife's father died. And you, why aren't you skulking around in the woods?" Aragorn left his mouth open for a moment, then said simply, "I'm a king." Lange said incredulously, "A king? A ranger of the North is the King?" Aragorn shrugged. "A ranger of the East owns a pub." Noticing the strange glances they were receiving, Aragorn introduced Lange to his companions. "We were rangers together," he explained.

Aragorn and Lange lunched while discussing, among other things, Arwen, Eldarion, and Lange's new wife, Moire. Merry and Pippin were having a competition with a young man named Iden, trying to see who could eat the most. Surprisingly enough, Iden seemed to be pulling ahead. Legolas was teaching a few men how to improve with their fighting knives. Gimli and Gandalf were sitting idly by, smoking their pipe weed and listening whilst the girl and two men, Halig and Flynn, compared scars. "This one here," Halig said, patting his calf, "came from a wild wolf, tried to kill me when I twelve." She rolled up her sleeve and displayed a ragged mark extending from her shoulder to her elbow. She used her other hand to slice through the air while making a ripping sound. Flynn said, "Wait, I've got the best one, I've got the best one." He pulled up his shirt almost to his pectoral muscles and pointed to one of his ribs. "Right there. See it?" They leaned in closer and saw a scratch less than a half-inch wide. "I was seventeen. I caught my mother smoking from my father's pipe and she threw her best ladle at me." He and Halig collapsed into tears of laughter while she rolled her eyes. Gandalf muttered, "Someone remind me to not let them drink any more wine."

The other half of the army arrived, and Aragorn, Gandalf and Faramir immediately shut themselves away with the appointed captains. Pippin sat, tapping on a tabletop. "I'm _bored_." "We could always make our own entertainment," Merry said. Glancing over, he added, "There's a pond; we could fish." "I've seen it," Pippin complained. "Nothing there but a gallopin' bunch of toads." Both hobbits suddenly looked at each, grinning. The two snuck away, snickering madly.

A while later, someone asked, "Has anyone seen my pipe?" He was the third man to ask in ten minutes, and it was really becoming quite bothersome to everyone except Merry and Pippin, who were nowhere to be found.

She had other problems with which to deal. "Just try it. What harm can come of it?" Gugwyn was all but dragging her towards his horse. She dug her heels in the ground and was leaving two trails in the dirt behind her. The horse snorted and didn't appear any more anxious to make her acquaintance. "He's the tamest stallion you'll ever meet. He's never before thrown off anyone." Legolas muttered, "There's a first time for everything." Ignoring the chuckles, Gugwyn said, "At least try it. Maybe you can make the elf eat his words." She stared at him for a moment, then rolled her eyes, handed her sword to another, and allowed herself to be led.

She was saddled in moments later, and not looking too happy about it. Gugwyn smiled up at her. "Everything feels good, right?" She gave a short, discontented nod. "Exactly! See? Nothing to worry about," he said, and gave the horse a light slap on the neck. It promptly reared up on his front feet, and she was bucked over its head and into the pond.

Guffaws of laughter came from the shore as she surfaced and struggled back to land. She trudged over, shedding soaked cloaks and wringing out her hair as she walked. She reached out to one side and accepted her sword from the howling man while Gugwyn smiled apologetically. "Sorry," he squeaked. With eyes narrowed and lips thin, she looked anything but humorous.

She looked sideways at the men who were barely managing to stifle their chuckles and at Legolas, who was obviously fighting the deep urge to smirk. Still watching them, she leaned forward at the waist and shook herself like a dog. Cries of protest came from the men as they shielded themselves from the spray. When she finally stopped, they were almost as wet as she was. She looked at them again for a moment, then walked off, making a rough, throaty noise that sounded strangely like a chuckle.

"Where the blazes is _my_ pipe!" Gimli screamed. Having had enough of this nonsense, a small party of men began searching people's packs in what they had comically dubbed "the great pipe hunt." "One has to wonder," Frodo told Sam, "where Merry and Pippin are during all this." Giving each other an exasperated look, they too began searching. Both teams were successful when they both hobbits and pipes and about two dozen toads sitting behind a thick patch of reeds. Each toad had a smoking pipe perched prominently in his mouth. The men were angry and slightly confused. "You've never done this before?" Sam asked. "It's simple," he said while the other three hobbits chortled and started removing the pipes. "You put a pipe between the toad's lips. It can't spit the pipe out, so it just sits there and smokes. After a while, you take the pipe out, put the toad down, and watch it try to hop away." What followed was hilarious at best: a small legion of smoke-emitting toads, trying to hop away and stumbling all over themselves in the process.

"It's decided," Aragorn said later that evening. The campaign had gone well, many orcs had been killed, and they would leave tomorrow to finish it in Mordor. They were all quite content to remain there for the night, but they were more excited at the prospect of nearing the end of their conquest. The air was filled with the smell of roasted beef and talk of what one would do upon arriving home. It would have been a much better way to end an evening were it not for what else filled the air.

"Cowan, it's time to go to bed." "NOOOOOOO!" "Cowan, go to bed." "NOOOOOOO!" A four-year-old Cowan was standing outside and shaking his head, refusing to obey his parents' orders. Most of the fathers in the group shook their heads while others grumbled, the word "brat" being thrown about with ire. Little more than strong resolve and proper upbringing kept Legolas from folding over his ears and clamping his hands firmly upon them.

Unable to stand it any longer, she quietly slunk off and began to creep up behind the still protesting toddler. People watched to see what would happen. Crouching less than a foot from the back of the child's head, she shaped her hands into claws near her face, opened her mouth while curling back her lips, rolled up her eyes, and hissed. Cowan whipped around and was suddenly face-to-face with a hissing, marble-white monster with fangs, evil-looking claws, and pupil-less eyes, truly the thing of four-year-old nightmares.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Cowan screamed in absolute terror, then fainted away. She leaned over his unconscious form and waved one hand before his face before scooping him up with one hand and handing his tiny, twitching self to his parents. Said one onlooker, "I should have thought of that _years_ ago!"

The following morning, Aragorn parted reluctantly tore himself away from Lange's company, and they made their way east. Aragorn described the stories he and his friend of old had exchanged, describing how nice it was to relive some memories and to be called Strider once more. "I've wondered about him before; I'm glad to know he's well."

Legolas, for some reason, looked rather uneasy at hearing this. After a few minutes of thought, he stepped nearer to her. They didn't acknowledge each other's presence, but he spoke as though she was listening. "A Lady Elemmírë once came to call on my father. During a lengthy discussion, she said that her youngest son, Aerandir, and his wife were expecting their third son. She also mentioned that their mother took delight in the knowledge that the two elder children could see what she could not." She continued plowing along, but nodded after a moment. "Beginning to accept, are we?" Gimli asked his elvish friend, who only glowered in response.

Balfor, man of almost thirty came running up to her. "My grandmother was deaf, you know. Around her, we had to speak with our hands. I remember some of it." When she failed to look at all interested, he made several gestures in the air. When he stopped, she made a few of her own. They exchanged a few more motions and she continued ahead. Balfor looked slightly crestfallen. "What did you say?" someone asked. "I said that, if she wanted to, she could tell me what she wanted to say and I could tell everyone else. When I asked if she wanted to do that, she said no. 'Why not?' I asked. 'Not one for words,' she tells me." "'Not one for words?'" his comrade repeated. "Sounds ludicrous. Most women I know have to be begged to keep quiet." "I know. Can you imagine?"

"That's a bit odd," Merry said suddenly. "What?" Pippin asked. "Aragorn said the reason she was held hostage in Mordor was because she could make a new Ring. Yet from I remember, she was simply a task he never completed." Both began to snicker. Upon receiving curious looks, they looked at her and said amusedly, "You _lied_." She shrugged.

Aragorn muttered angrily, "You _did_ imply." She pointed to Gandalf and made a few signs, which Balfor translated. "She says it's his fault." Eyebrows high, the wizard said incredulously, "'_My_ fault?'" Several gestures. "You said the name 'Sauron.' She never did. And she didn't lie." Faramir asked cautiously, "You truly can create the next Ring?" Gestures. "She knows how to, if she wanted."

Several days later, they arrived at the black gates of Mordor. Taking care to avoid detection, all figures of superiority left the army behind and studied the gates from afar. They were still tall, black, and menacing. But they had cracked, and the sentries stationed atop them looked as though they no longer understood the point and were there out of habit alone.

"There's still a guard. We can have Legolas remove them," Gandalf said. "But the crack in the earth is wide and runs deep. It will be difficult to get within range without being discovered." She had snuck up behind them and was watching as well. At Gandalf's words, she glanced at the walls. She put her hand on his arm, and tapped herself. "Do you know of another way?" She nodded solemnly. "Very well," Aragorn said. "We will make our way inside tonight."

At almost midnight, just after the night watch had arrived, she led the elf down a rocky clearing to a spot where he could properly execute them without fear of being sighted. While he went back to fetch the others, she stayed and stared up at the walls. It was the place of her first memories, where her most life-shaping events had occurred. She must have been lost in recollection, for she failed to realize Frodo's presence until he said, "Back again, hmm? Me too."

They immediately snuck through the gates and into the most dangerous country in all of Middle Earth. They had to move quickly, or it would soon be discovered that the night watchmen were dead and that an army of men was creeping about. They trekked as quickly as they could without drawing any unwanted attention to themselves. It was nearly morning when they finally stopped, though the atmosphere was such that one could hardly call it morning. They settled down for a quick rest.

They arose a few hours later, feeling slightly refreshed. She was several yards away, searching for something among the boulders. She pushed one to the side with great effort and began to dig. She eventually unearthed what she had been searching for and brought it out. It was a glass vial, rather small and very old, and sealed inside was a piece of folded parchment. She carefully carried it over to Gandalf and handed it to him. Handling the artifact with care, he gently broke the wax seal and popped off the cork. He slid the contents into his hand and opened them. Reading the minute handwriting to himself, he studied the pages with interest.

One page took immediate hold of his attention. He glanced at her questioningly from over the top of the page, but kept going. The succeeding paper was what interested her. She pointed to the top, then to herself, and finally at him. Reading it again, he held his staff so that the crown was aimed pointedly at her chest. Gandalf then read in commanding tones.

"Ministra manumitto,

Erus cedo.

Vinculum custodia _abeo_!"

Nothing happened.

At least they thought so. After a moment, a bright white light suddenly came spinning along the staff and forcefully slammed into her chest. She flew back about ten feet and slid another five before coming to a halt. She sat up clutching the stitching in her shirt and letting out a breath. "What did that do?" Faramir asked. She stood up and looked herself over as though searching for a change. She walked over to Faramir, stood before him, closed her eyes, and let her head hang. Her breathing became very slow and concentrated.

Just as it was occurring to Faramir that this was much like what she had done after Gandalf had first questioned her, she lifted her head and opened her eyes. They remained silver. She closed and opened them again. Still nothing. "What did this do?" Faramir asked again. "I can't be entirely certain," Gandalf responded. "But I think I've just freed her from Sauron's service." Nodding, she walked over, took back the page, and offered her hand to him. After shaking it once, she turned to leave.

"And what of this?" Gandalf asked her, holding one page aloft. She tapped herself, shook her head, and walked away.

He continued to study the page with concern. "What does it say?" Aragorn asked. Handing him the paper, Gandalf said tiredly, "She wasn't lying." Aragorn read silently, face turning an unusual shade of white. "This is how one would create a Ring of power," he said. Gandalf nodded solemnly. "And what do you propose we do with this?" They glanced at each other. Too much harm had come from Rings of power. So the dry, brittle page was carefully refolded and burned to a black ash and crushed until it was little more than dust.

A few days later, after nearly a week of trekking through the most barren, godforsaken country in all of Middle Earth, they finally arrived at Mount Doom. Like the Black Gates, it was still tall and intimidating, but somehow it seemed a shadow of its former self. There was little visible activity.

Aragorn, Faramir, Gandalf, and two appointed leaders, Raedan and Verge, were discussing the best plan of action. "I don't like it," said Raedan. "Something about this just feels wrong, dangerous." "It _is_ dangerous," Faramir said. "Before, we just wanted to defeat them. Now we're trying to exterminate them." "And we will exterminate them," Verge said fiercely. "We've beaten them back once. We can beat them out altogether now." Aragorn listened calmly, then said, "Verge, look at Mount Doom. It's like an anthill. There's so little happening on the surface; yet below, there is often a tumult of activity. It's not a situation to be taken lightly."

There was a moment of silence. Gandalf finally spoke. "I disagree with Verge. Let us attack in the morning, with full force." Aragorn agreed and announced the matter to the men. Gugwyn could be heard saying to Gwullyn, "This seems so final. It's as though I didn't think we would ever have to come here and do this." "Are you afraid?" the elder man asked. "Yes," the younger answered earnestly. "But I won't let that hinder me." "Good man."

The following morning, everyone arose early and ate slowly, many wondering if this would be their last meal. The stones in their stomachs turned to butterflies as Aragorn spoke. "Today, we end the conflict that has rained misery and fire upon us for more than one thousand years. Yes, we've defeated them. But they now have nothing left to fight for, nothing to fuel their fire, save their will to live and their hatred of all things. And like a caged or wounded animal, they will fight all the more fiercely, because they also have nothing to lose. So I bid you, Men of Gondor, here and now, to draw from your deepest reserves of courage and strength. Let this will be the last battle we need ever pursue against the forces of Mordor."

They now stood in plain view of the ruins of Mount Doom's structures. The orcs that had seen them had vanished, but many pairs of angry, yellow eyes looked out from the darkness, and an eerie, guttural growl followed. "Still afraid?" Gwullyn asked. "A little," Gugwyn said. "I don't blame you," his older friend commented. "I am as well. Blood. Monsters. Certain death…" Said Gimli as he wielded his axe, "Sounds good to me." She nodded and drew her sword. The archers then loosed their flame-tipped arrows into the nest of yellow eyes, and as it has often been said, all of hell broke loose.

Orcs poured from the crevices in the earth like water from a broken dam. Arrows were fired and blades were bloodied and the battle raged on as though it would have no end. Bodies covered the filthy ground and a red mist fairly hung in the smoky air. It was nearly impossible to discern friend from foe.

Fighting back to back, Legolas yelled to Gimli, "Nineteen!" Gimli yelled back, "Twenty-two!" "Do you think we're going to die?" Legolas spoke as though wondering whether it was going to rain. Gimli said, "I never expected to die in bed with gray beard." "Neither do I." That said, they threw themselves back into the bloodbath with vigor.

At some point, it came to notice that no matter how many orcs were slain, more seemed to come. It slowly became apparent that the army of men was losing. Half of them looked around despairingly, clearly thinking that the situation was hopeless. It truly seemed lost when Aragorn at one point said to Gandalf, "I think this may have been a mistake."

Just as they were all resigning themselves to destruction and death, a horn blew somewhere to the west. All turned and saw rows of men on horseback, swords drawn and spears at the ready. Eomer was at the head. "Charge!" he screamed and the army of Rohan fell on that of Mordor with a vengeance.

Aragorn limped over Eomer. "Truly is Rohan the savior of Gondor." Eomer grinned. "When Faramir wrote to me, I decided I didn't want my only sister to become a widow so soon. Besides, this is the greatest service that has ever been done for Middle Earth. I could not allow you to seize such glory for yourself."

"Gugwyn! Where are you?" Gugwyn's friends ran about, searching for their companion. They found him kneeling and cradling Gwullyn's body. He was rocking back and forth slightly and his cheeks were damp. "I fell," he said. "One of them tried to kill me, but Gwullyn stopped him. Then another found him and…" He trailed off sorrowfully.

Eomer had his arm around Faramir. "And how is my sister? Am I an uncle yet?" "In a few more months, yes." Eomer opened his mouth, probably to ask how many months, when he promptly had the wind knocked out of him. She had run into him and struggling to get back up. By the time she managed it, the two men that had been chasing her were almost upon her, so she had to turn and take a fighting stance. "Wait, wait!" Faramir said. "She's with us, she's with us!" The two men looked at her as though they very much doubted that. Bedecked in foreign garb, with a row of orcish earrings along one ear and a black war marking painted on the other side of her face, she looked anything but friendly. Eomer turned to Faramir and said, "Perhaps there's something you failed to mention?"

It was with heavy hearts that they buried their dead. The buildings were set on fire and all war machines were destroyed. When they finally left, there were few traces of the orcs' existence.

Several nights later, when Mordor lay behind them, they decided settle in a nearby town before going their separate ways. All anyone could discuss was how much they wanted to go home. To see their wives, to hug their children. They also remembered to help kith and kin grieve for their losses. They talked long into the night.

"This will be one of better entries in Gondor's history," said Aragorn's clerk, who had somehow managed to avoid slaughter. "Our proper king is returned to us, and scarcely a year after being crowned, he rids Middle Earth of orcs forever." "It won't be a complete waste for Rohan," added Eomer's record keeper. "Twice arriving in time to save a friend from defeat." "And that whatever she is," the clerk continued. "One could write entire chapters on her history alone."

She had heeded little of what they were saying. But at this, she froze and her eyes widened. To someone who had obviously taken lengths to avoid being remembered, this seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. Faramir took notice of her ill-at-ease expression and said to the pair, "Don't mention her at all." The two looked at him, then at their respective kings. Aragorn paused, then said, "Yes. Don't make any mention of her." Eomer seemed slightly perplexed, but nodded. She looked at the two leaders with a look of almost relief. She offered her hand to both, gratitude clear in her expression. Turning again to each other, one recorder said to the other, "That make it easier, in a way. How would we ever refer to her that much without a name to call her."

She paused in the doorway when this was said. After a moment, she faced them again and a voice was heard clearly in everyone's head. It wasn't high, but it was distinctly feminine. "Arwith." They paused in what they were doing and looked at her. Looking her in the eye, Aragorn said, "What?" "My name," the voice said slowly, "is Arwith." Still holding his gaze, she clicked her heels together smartly and gave a small bow of the head. Then she turned and walked outside.

"She's gone," someone said. It was true. It was now morning and no one had seen her since last night. "I wonder why," someone thought aloud. "What do you think?" Eomer asked Aragorn. He shrugged. "There was nothing holding her here. And she already knew we weren't going to pursue or keep record of her. Perhaps she is ready to forsake the woods and reenter the world of Men." No one dwelled on it. They bid those of Rohan farewell and began the journey home.

Several days into what was a much shorter trip, for what no reason at all, Merry said to Pippin, "It's strange, but I can't remember what color her hair was." Legolas said, "There was something different about her ears. I don't quite recall what." Faramir listened. After a moment, he began to chuckle silently. When asked what he found so amusing, he said, "It's interesting. At first, we wanted her name more than anything. Now we know it and no one can remember to use it." "It seems we can barely remember her," Gandalf added. "She didn't seem to want to be remembered," Aragorn commented. "I suppose this is our way of complying with that wish of anonymity."

It was a few more weeks before Sam was able to knock on his own front door and bid Rosie let him in. He was greeted with a kiss from his wife and a hug from his daughter, who seemed so much older already. He was ready to go inside when his gaffer came hobbling up the walkway. "Oh, Rosie," he called. "Is that my son?" "Indeed it is," she answered smiling. "And was that young Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck I saw sneaking up the path to Bungo Smials's farm?"

Sam was prevented from answering when said farmer's screams and insults followed Merry and Pippin as they came running once down the road, this time with Diamond herself in tow. They hid behind a tree on the far side of the road. "Diamond," Pippin said, out of breath, "let's get married!" "Oh, Pip, I'd _love_ it!" Grinning like a pair of fools, the couple embraced while Merry said, "'Married?' If you get married, what am I supposed to do?" Pippin said, "There's always the barmaid." Merry opened his mouth to object, then looked as though maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. "Diamond, I can't believe you would do this to you own father!" The trio immediately tore down the dirt road, screaming, "Quick! To the Green Dragon!"

Sam watched this all happen while standing safely in his doorway, surrounded by the three most important people in his life. "So," his father asked. "Where did you go? What did you do?" "It almost doesn't matter to me," Sam answered. "It's just good to be home. Yes, it's very good indeed."

END

Yay! I finally finished! I know it took forever, and it ended rather abruptly, but I hope you all enjoyed it. I've so enjoyed being able to get your reviews. Thanks again to:

Calico Cat; Celebas, Silver Leaf; Cute Little Legolas; Eccentric Banshee; Gir The Insane Flamin Ninja; Iccle Fairy; Insane Elvish Vampire Pirate And The Demented Hobbit Ninja; Jennifer; The Lady Luthien; Lindahoyland; Melannen Amarie; and Teinesamoa for their reviews.

Please don't hesitate to have a lovely day!

P.S. The whole spell thing up there that you probably couldn't understand is really badly-thrown together Latin. Basically, what it means is:

"The servant freed,

The master resigned,

Link that binds them be gone."

Just in case anyone was wondering.


End file.
